Summer's Surprises Redo
by Saturn's Candlesticks
Summary: Hermione Jane Granger is a know-it-all, no doubt about it. But what happens when enough goes wrong that she doesn't act herself anymore? With the death of her parents and an impending arranged marriage, what is she to do? Is love really the answer? PostDH
1. Prologue

To set the record straight...

Characters are JKR's (most of them).

Storyline is Mine.

Begin.

.

.

Prologue

It was one of those nights… you know the ones. You are lying on your bed; it is one of the first few days of July and you are fully aware that you should be hot as hell at the moment, but you just aren't. Maybe it's the fact that you have the fan blowing right onto your face. Maybe it's because it's gently raining outside. Or maybe it's just because your mind is too preoccupied to realize that you are, in fact, too warm.

Hermione Granger was in this very same predicament. In fact, it was 2:43 in the morning and she hadn't thus far got a wink of sleep: And she still wasn't tired. It was also a muggy night and well into the 80 degrees Fahrenheit: And she still wasn't hot at all.

Point in fact, there simply was too much on Hermione Granger's mind for her to be worrying about commonplace things such as sleep or heat.

Usually, when Hermione found it difficult to sleep, she would read. Few things had changed there – she had always read, both to wake herself up and to put herself to sleep. It went both ways. This was a ritual ever since her younger years, despite the constant teasing. In fact, if she had a knut for every time she'd been labeled a "bookworm" whether favorable or otherwise… but I digress.

At this exact moment, what was on Hermione Granger's mind was a boy.. A very exciting boy.

His name is Alan Yarper, and he is 19 years old. He also has beautiful, flaxen hair and stormy blue-gray eyes. Sometimes these eyes are rimmed with red circles from marijuana consumption, but Hermione is quite unaware of this. To her, Alan Yarper is all that is good and beautiful and perfect.

But there's just one problem… actually, there are two.

1) Hermione has not truly seen Alan Yarper, outside of his courtship of her. She believes he is just a simple, romantic, peace-loving boy who plays guitar in a local band.

2) Alan Yarper is a Muggle.


	2. The Fog Rolls In

Chapter One

The day was hot and horrendously moist. It had rained all the previous night and in fact, had only just let up.

Hermione's hair was a wreck.

Usually, her hair was merely "bushy"… today, her hair might have easily been categorized as "bushMAN."

Determined to look her best, Hermione pulled out an old hair straightener covered in dust – for today, she would be with Alan. And as we all know, Hermione believes that Alan is all that is good and beautiful and perfect… therefore, she must become, for that day, all that is good and beautiful and perfect.

Today, that meant her hair must be straight and she MUST have make-up.

On muggy days like this day, any woman who knows anything about make-up or hair will know that less is more – meaning that Hermione should probably have opted to be herself that day, rather than pretending she was someone else.

Love (even puppy love) makes humans stupid.

Finally giving up on beautifying herself the Muggle way, Hermione turned to her wand, scraped off the mess she had made on her face with eyeliner and started from scratch.

When she had determined she was at least presentable, she left the house, wand hidden discreetly.

Fast forward a couple hours.

Hermione waits for Alan at the park down the street from his house. Alan shows up twenty minutes late and he is stoned. He smells earthy and unusual to Hermione, but having never been exposed to drugs, she makes no connection. To her, Alan merely looks and acts like he has not been able to sleep well.

The pair decide to take a drive in Alan's car, a Volkswagen that to him is new, but in reality is actually a heap of junk. They drive for awhile, finally ending up in Wiltshire so Hermione can meet some of Alan's bandmates.

After meeting said bandmates, Hermione and Alan take a stroll around, past the town and into a section of large houses and mansions, slightly removed from the town.

And whom should she meet strolling down the way, but Draco Malfoy.

Let's recap, shall we?

Draco Malfoy is a schoolmate of Hermione Granger. They have loathed one another since age 11, when both were admitted into Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. This loathing is brought along because Draco is what wizards refer to as "pureblood." Hermione, on the other hand has been given life by Muggles and randomly became a witch, all on her own. Disdainful of her impurity, Draco has become quite the asshole, making Hermione's front teeth grow such that she resembles a badger, as well as many other highly amusing pranks over the years.

At this moment, Draco happens to have been taking a walk with his good friend and distant cousin Abraxas Yaxley. His eyes fall on Hermione in recognition and he freezes.

Hermione, almost in the same instant, becomes aware of her archenemy and pauses a moment. Alan notices her faltering and looks around, his eyes resting on the pair of boys, both very obviously rich.

For one reason or another – perhaps it was the drug – Alan decides it's a good idea to greet the boys.

Mistake.

The moment Draco sees that Alan has opened his mouth, he pulls out his wand in one fluid motion and aims it directly at his forehead.

"What're you going to do with that?" Alan sneers, believing the boys to be something bordering retarded, "poke me or something?"

Without realizing a very real danger, Alan attempts to impress Hermione by performing a rendition of a snooty, rich boy poking him with a stick in the forehead.

Hermione laughs halfheartedly, then yanks on Alan's arm to follow her along a small path through the woods. Clearly they will be out of harm's way there. She could only hope Draco would let them be.

It appeared he was going to, because they left relatively unmolested. There was, however, a glace.

A glance so epic, it might as well be re-dubbed "the glance."

It was the glance that started everything. Piercing, cold gray eyes met warm, soft brown eyes. The differences clashed and then melted before freezing, a cesspool of everything that had ever passed between the two people, obvious only to themselves.

The glance was mutually broken, but both felt its power and both were affected. It was that moment that Hermione knew her life was about to change. She did not acknowledge that she knew it, but the knowledge was there. It waited.

Once Hermione and Alan had broken through the path and were a long way out of earshot, Alan questioned her on the meeting, "An acquaintance of yours?"

"I suppose you could say that," she replied, colder than she'd intended. "We go to school together."

"Someone you don't normally hang out with, I hope. What a nutter! Trying to blow a hole through my head or something, waving around a dumb stick like that…"

This launched Hermione into an over-cautious explanation of every possible thing Draco could have intended toward Alan, excluding the actual reason.

Somewhere along the line, Alan got bored of her ramble. At this time, his brain is finally being inhibited by both the incredible high he has achieved, mixed with the vodka shots he's done recently. The something human inside him disappeared.  
Alan is not all that is good and beautiful and perfect, as Hermione is about to find out the hard way.

.

.

Perhaps it was the glance that alerted Draco something was amiss in the woods. Maybe he simply caught a look at Alan and read everything that Hermione had skimmed over about him. More than likely, Draco was simply just better adept at reading the bad in people – and Alan screamed bad.

The kind of bad that everyone can see but the victim. There was something about Alan that Draco just did not trust.  
Gesturing to Abraxas to follow, the boys cast a silencing charm on themselves and made their way along the trail. Why Draco was determined to follow the pair, neither boy new, most especially not Draco himself. He chided himself several times for allowing himself to be too curious.

Then they heard the screams.

.

.

There was hot breath on the back of her neck, and she was truly frightened. For once in her life, words were beyond comprehension. Not for the first time in her life, she was terrified – but never in this way, never in this situation  
Blood was rushing to her head and she threatened to pass out, but past experience fighting alongside her friends had taught her that passing out at this moment would be bad.

This fear was new. This was not the fear of Lord Voldemort's return to wreak chaos across the globe. This was not the fear and pain that comes with the death of someone close. This was not the fear of being killed.

This fear was different.

She cursed herself for not having studied her wandless spells. Had she understood them better, words might still have failed her. Fear was all that existed.

"Please," she managed.

"Stay awhile," Alan coaxed in a wannabe calm voice. He was a predator and women were objects to him, prey. This little deer had been idle and carefree too close to the lion's den.

He twisted her arm violently behind her, making her cry out for the first time.

It occurred to her that she should scream, or attempt a wandless spell, something. So she screamed. A few tears ran down her face as a hand tightened around her windpipe. Her voice was cut off and her hands raced to the aid of her neck, desperately clawing and fighting, just to stay alive.

"Accio," she croaked, making an attempt. Her mind was clouded over from lack of air. The spell did not work. She tried again, receiving only more failure.

A couple more seconds and her trained mind had failed her. The clouds became far too thick. Fog claimed her and she knew no more.

.

.

Author's Note: This is a re-do of my fic, "Summer's Surprises" completed sometime around... sayyyy... 2004 or 2005-ish. I hope my writing has grown better.

The main purpose of this fic is an update. I have become bored as of late and wanted the same plotline to be given another shot... with a challenge. I am now preparing to write this, post-Deathly Hallows. Therefore, those who have read the original story will find it is quite a bit changed.

I hope you are enjoying this thus far.


	3. More Bad News

Chapter Two

"Did you see what happened?"

"No, but I think it's pretty bloody obvious, don't you?"

"You don't have any idea about the Muggle who…"

"No, for the last time. I don't know. You have a description."

"They're bringing her to right now…"

Moaning, Hermione sat up, the conversation swimming in her mind. Where was she? What had happened?

Memories came in tiny rivulets, flowing into an estuary before becoming whole.

She felt dirty… she was dirty.

She was wearing someone else's clothes – hospital clothes, and she was wrapped in a blanket. A kindly looking woman was bathing her forehead with a cold rag as another occupied herself by casting spell after spell. Memory spells, mostly the forgetting kind.

Realization flooded her. She lurched forward and threw everything in her stomach up. This was followed by dry heaves and a flurry of spell casting by the woman with the wand.

When the excitement died down, the kindly looking woman next to Hermione smiled at her, "Is there anything I can get you?"

Hermione recognized the pity in the woman's voice.

"I want to go home."

"I'm afraid you can't just yet, miss. There are a few more things we need, most importantly to make sure you're alright," the woman replied.

"I'm fine. I want a shower, and I'll be fine." She was trying to convince herself, but all over she was feeling violated. Everywhere hurt, especially the places that shouldn't.

A wizard medic was speaking to another wizard, an investigator, "The girl will have to come with us for a little while. It's mandatory that victims of rape must have a 24-hour surveillance before…"

His voice trailed away in Hermione's mind. She had been raped. Raped. Raped by a Muggle. Violated. Trashed. Desecrated…  
More dry heaves. More spells.

Cold cloth on her forehead…

…Kind words…

Warm eyes filled with sympathy.

Pity-filled glances.

...

…Eyes so heavy.

…Sleep…

.

.

Three days later, Hermione awoke, somehow instantly and fully aware of her surroundings. Judging by the white, uniform walls and the sickeningly sweet portrait of a young girl holding a parasol and chasing butterflies, Hermione determined she was in the hospital. Judging from the fact that the portrait on the wall was moving, it was St. Mungo's.

"Oh, splendid, you're awake."

The voice came from the other side of the room. Hermione's head spun around to appraise the speaker. Her mind was blown away by the array of flowers and gifts that littered the nightstand to her right. How had she not noticed?

Colors were so washed-out all of a sudden…

"How long have I been here?" Hermione croaked. Her voice was hoarse and her lips were dry and cracked from disuse.

"All of three days, miss," the nurse replied. She was a black woman, probably only a few years older than Hermione, and very pretty.

"I feel dirty," Hermione stated.

"Would you like me to run you a bath?" the nurse inquired. Her nametag boldly stated GENEVA.

Hermione merely nodded. A crack on her lip slit and began to bleed. Geneva calming flicked her wand, once, twice, three times. The lip was healed, a bathrobe appeared on the table nearby and the sounds of running water echoed slightly into the hospital room.

Geneva checked up on Hermione regularly, just to make sure she didn't do anything rash. Lucky she did: After fifteen minutes, Hermione had scrubbed her skin raw. Layers of skin seemed to come off too easily. Yet, underneath the first, the second was dirtier. The third was worse off than the second. The fourth was unbearably disgusting…

The bathwater ran red. Hermione scrubbed and scrubbed, to no avail – she only got dirtier the more she scrubbed, the closer in she got to her core.

Geneva's face remained calm and with some fancy wandwork, the damage was righted. "Why don't we get you into a nice seat?" she suggested. Perhaps she was an angel, Hermione didn't know.

Without a word or a gesture, Hermione dressed and wrapped herself up in a big fluffy blanket. From there, Geneva enchanted the window to look like the rolling waves of the ocean. Hermione sat in a white wicker chair and watched the sea, unblinkingly.

Sleep came so easily…

.

.

Hermione received many visitors over the next few days, including many schoolmates and good friends. She wasn't sure how everyone seemed to have heard about what had happened… to be sure, it was embarrassing… the way everyone gazed at her with looks of pity or worse.

Perhaps it is a mark of how much the incident had truly scarred her, but Hermione felt herself in a state almost beyond caring.

The only people she felt she couldn't face were Ron, Harry and Ginny. Whenever these three visited, she would feign sleep until they left, sometimes many hours later.

But what bothered her the most were the whispers.

Medics would whisper around her when they thought she couldn't hear.. The Weasleys too, partook in these mysterious whispers, but never truly within her earshot.

All she ever heard were snippets of conversations. Things like "…when we should tell her…" or "…the girl needs to find out sooner or later…"

Then one day, a wizard in some very official-looking robes appeared in her room. It seemed he had taken the entire Weasley clan plus Harry for moral support. It had caught Hermione by surprise and there was so time to feign sleep.

She was stuck to face whatever they had to say to her.

"Ms. Granger," the man in the official robes began. Hermione could tell by the way he spoke that he was aware of her predicament, "I realize that now… might not be the best time to speak to you of this. However, it is necessary you know – something that will… change your life…"

Mrs. Weasley strode across the room and embraced Hermione such that she knew her life was about to get much, MUCH worse…

.

.

Over the next hour, Hermione will find out that her loving parents had both perished in an unfortunate house fire.

Apparently, Mr. and Mrs. Granger's electric can opener had backfired, setting their house ablaze… without enough warning for the two to escape.

What the wizard from the Ministry wanted to tell her was the contents of her parents' will, drawn up imperfectly due to their early and sudden death.

"It seems that, excluding a few specifics, you have received the vast majority of your parents' property," the man explained. "Since they never completed their will, leaving a few bases uncovered, you are set to receive everything. Rather than at age 22, for example.."

Hermione stared at the portrait on the wall. The girl with the parasol was grinning impishly at her.

Silence.

"Ms. Granger?" the man prompted.

"What is to become of her?" Mrs. Weasley demanded. "We could make room with us…"

"Ah, the Granger were very specific about that bit, luckily. The girl is to live with her grandmother."

"I don't have a grandmother. They're both dead." These were Hermione's first words during the meeting.

The man frowned, "I spoke with her yesterday – she is quite alive and very prepared to take you…"

Hermione remained silent. Her parents had told her both sets of her grandparents perished from various things before Hermione had been born. Had they kept a big secret from her? Had they hidden much from her?

Well, she could no longer ask them…

"Callidora Black is a fine woman, I assure you," the man continued, as if eager to please. "She is one of the oldest members of the…"

"Callidora Black?" Mr. Weasley demanded, speaking for the first time. The Weasley brood, for the first time, tore their eyes from Hermione and looked up at their father in surprise.

"Who is she, Dad?" Ginny inquired curiously.

"If I'm not mistaken," Mr. Weasley said, "old Callidora married Harfang Longbottom… so that would mean…"

"Hermione's cousins with Neville!" Ron exclaimed, gaping.

"Which would mean…" Ginny continued, putting two and two together.

"Indeed," the wizard finished, "Ms. Granger is not, in fact, Muggle-born."

"And further than that, children," Mrs. Weasley continued breathlessly, "that means that Hermione's going to live with your Great Aunt Dora."

The Weasleys gaped at Hermione. Harry remained with his eyes fixed on her, as if trying to search her mind.

Hermione remained silent. Thoughts were swimming in her over-crowded head, but she refused to let them show on her face.

Geneva rescued her at this moment: "Everybody out! This is far too much excitement for a recovering patient!"

Without taking "no" for an answer, Hermione's own personal angel ushered the lot of them out of the room, promising them all exclusive visiting rights in the near future. The man in the robes remained, as he required a signature of Hermione's, merely to accept her parents' last testament.

"Good luck, Ms. Granger." The man sounded like he truly meant it. With a last nod in her direction, he Disapparated.

"Tough crowd," Geneva commented mildly.

Hermione managed what was supposed to be a chuckle, but manifested instead as a sob.

"There, there," the kindly woman comforted. "Would you like to take a walk around?

Hermione shook her head "no."

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Tell me something," Hermione whispered, "will I survive?"

Geneva put an arm around her patient's shoulders, "You will.. It will take time and you must be patient. Time heals all wounds – you just have to let it." She paused, "At any rate, you have a very loving group of people who care for you. If you've got them, you've got it all."

"Yes," Hermione agreed.

It was true words of wisdom… but the pain refused to disappear.

.

.

Author's Note: Wow! You've gotten this far! Please please PLEASE leave me some feedback, I am always open to new suggestions and helpful criticism.


	4. Family Ties

Chapter Three

Hermione swayed gently back and forth on the old swing. It was one of those swings that is so low to the ground you can't help that your feet drag across the mulch, still moist from the morning dew.

Hermione found that she woke much earlier these days. It was still summer and she rose with the sun. She and the sun had become friends, she'd liked to have thought.

It had been two days since she'd moved in with Callidora Black… or rather, her grandmother. Yet she had not met the woman, who was finishing up a business meeting in Norway and would only return later this evening.

There were so many questions running through Hermione's head. Who were her parents? Were they actually a witch and a wizard? If so, that meant that perhaps Malfoy had been wrong when he'd called her "Mudblood" all these years…

Strange, to think of Malfoy at this time.

Stranger to think he was the last person Hermione really saw before…

But thinking about the incident was not on Hermione's agenda. She stood. The swing squeaked its good-bye, still swaying slightly from the memory of her being there.

Disapparating back to her grandmother's house, Hermione looked up at the place, contemplating it again, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

This was a very obviously rich woman. VERY obviously rich.

It was a mansion and in Hermione's life experience, mansions were generally painted white in order to project a wealthy appearance. This mansion however, proved that Callidora Black was quite eclectic in her tastes. The mansion was painted dark green – the same color green as the leaves on the huge ash trees that lined the dusty dirt driveway. The shutters on Callidora's home were painted a light salmon-pink; The lampposts were a bright yellow. Then, just to complicate the whole scene, the huge front doors were striped black and white, with huge brass knockers and handles forged in the shape of leaping zebras.

This was not the only zebra-related thing in the house. In fact, there was a zebra something in every room! One room featured a zebra rug, another with a mounted head, and many with zebra figurines.

Hermione's own bedroom, which was the farthest room on the East Wing, sported a zebra-patterned bedspread and many fluffy black-and-white pillows.

A tawny owl with only one eye landed nearby, a letter attached to her leg. She hooted at Hermione.

"Thanks, Dizzy." Hermione took the letter. Dizzy had been given to Hermione as a welcoming gift by Callidora, though they had not yet met.

Ruffling the owls feathers affectionately, Hermione opened the letter…

Hermione-

Got your letter. Nice owl.

Ron and I really want to see you. Can you come to the Burrow sometime soon? Mrs. Weasley's going off her rocker worrying about you. I mean, it's kind of nice, because she's not worrying about me… but she's not the only one worrying, you know.

You still haven't met her? Ron said he's only met her once.. He warns you that she's really quirky, but from the description of the place I think you already know that…

Write back soon about coming over. Or if you just show up, no one is going to mind…

Love, Harry

Closing the letter, Hermione got up to walk into her new home. She certainly wanted to see Harry and Ron and Ginny… but at the same time, she did not at all want them to see her.

The butler, George greeted her at the door: "Good afternoon, miss. I trust you enjoyed your little jaunt?"

"Very much so, thank you, George," Hermione replied politely. All the staff was extremely friendly to her… and more importantly, they were not house elves.

"The mistress will be home very shortly," George continued. "She requests that you meet tonight at dinner."

Dinner was always a formal event here, even if there was only one person dining. Apparently though, Callidora usually had many very important wizards and witches as guests.

"Thank you, George," Hermione repeated.

"If I'm not being too forward, miss – you are looking a little blue."

Hermione forced a smile, "There are a few things on my mind, that's all."

"How do you turn a dish washer into a snow blower?" George prompted.

Hermione was very taken aback by this very odd change in the subject, "I… don't know…"

"Why, give him a shovel, of course." A corner of George's mouth twitched.

It took Hermione a moment to realize the butler had made a joke. She giggled quietly, appreciative of the fact that George had really taken it to heart to make her seem more at home.

"Thanks, George."

"Any time, miss." He bowed, "Perhaps you should be getting ready for dinner? It will be served promptly in one half an hour. The mistress stressed very much that she would like to meet you."

Hermione nodded and headed up the grand staircase, then left toward the East Wing. Finally, after turning right, then right again, and then a sharp left, she walked down the hallway toward her bedroom to dress.

The first day she had arrived, Hermione had been taken by one of the maids to go shopping for clothing – all of hers had been burned in the fire, along with the rest of her belongings.

As a result (the maid was very into clothes, apparently), she now had a ridiculous amount of clothing. Formal robes, casual robes, formal dresses, a couple evening gowns, casual Muggle clothes, jewelry, and 10 new pairs of shoes.

Hermione didn't want to think about how much this all cost and she was feeling very guilty afterwards. The maid, Jalena insisted that Callidora was one of the richest witches in the world and that Hermione need not worry… but Hermione never in her life had wanted to be a burden on anyone.

Dressed in a new black and white dress that the old Hermione would never have bought on her own, she descended the stairs and made her way into what was literally a hall meant for banquets. The table had been shrunk so that it was just big enough for two, but Hermione had seen it when it was seated for forty.

Callidora Black was dressed in a dark green dress that was very fashionable, however there was an underlying quirkiness about the woman. She had earrings with wooden giraffes hanging from them and her eyebrows had been plucked so that they went up at a sharp angle and then merely ended.

"My darling!" she exclaimed. She rose in a very stately way from her chair and embraced Hermione in a genuinely warm hug. She smelled like peppermint. "Have a seat, dear. My, you are a beautiful young lady."

Hermione blushed, "Thank you."

The first course was served, a fresh garden salad, while Callidora told Hermione all about her business meeting in Norway as though they were old friends and had known one another since birth. Hermione was already warming to her.

"…And the Norweigian Minister kept making references to the barbaric way that the trolls destroyed his nephew's birthday party as if I was supposed to do something about it. Before long, the man just got on my nerves to the point were I was on the trolls' side…" the woman sighed.

As the second course was brought on (Hermione had already eaten enough to be full at this point… she ate a lot less these days), Callidora finally shifted the conversation.

"I do hope you'll call me Dora: Everyone does, after all."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, determined to just not call her anything.

"You're a very reserved young lady," Dora commented.

Hermione merely inclined her head.

Dora seemed satisfied, "I'm very pleased. There are so many young folk these days without any manners whatsoever. You, however, are refined and beautiful. I also hear from Hogwarts that you are an extremely intelligent young woman. In other words, you have all you need to get very far in life."

Hermione remained silent.

Dora smiled to herself. "Very good; You are exactly what I'd hoped you would be. Please tell me some more about yourself. What do you do for fun? With whom do you associate yourself?"

Hermione reluctantly prattled on a little about how she was quite the bookworm, did not especially care for playing Quidditch, though she did enjoy the games, and about Harry and Ron.

"You have mentioned Harry and Ron many, many times, my dear. Please give me some last names," Dora requested.

"Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

And oh, the exclamation that followed. How interesting, thought Dora, that her granddaughter should be friends with her great nephew and the famous Potter boy.

Callidora Black was by no means a former Death Eater, nor had she been a big supporter of the Dark Lord… but she had been a Slytherin and certainly by no means had any intentions of aiding the Order of the Phoenix either time during Voldemort's reign. Sirius had not been a family favorite, either.

Dismissing the information as irrelevant, Dora continued, "As you are so into books from your description, I believe you should be introduced to the Library."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, actually quite looking forward to it.

"You're quite welcome, I believe you'll enjoy it." Callidora was feeling quite gracious at the moment, "I've also taken the liberty of purchasing you a horse. She's a fine pureblood mare and I'm sure you'll take to her… you DO ride?"

"No, unfortunately," Hermione answered, gathering correctly from the look on Dora's face that this was somewhat scandalous.

"Not at all! What WAS Jeannie thinking?"

Jeannie… Hermione's mother. This lead to some questions…

"If I'm not being too bold," Hermione spoke up, "how is it that my parents had convinced me that the lot of us were Muggles and then all of a sudden, I've got a grandmother who just so happens to be one of the most renowned witches in England?"

Dora sat black in her chair and sighed deeply. Hermione felt she was about to hear an earful and leaned forward intently, waiting for the reply.

"When your mother found out she was a squib, I'm afraid Harfang was quite disappointed in her." Then as an afterthought, she added, "That's your grandfather, dear. Determined to prove him wrong, Jeannie decided she wanted to live as a Muggle, to pretend she had never been a part of the wizarding community. I believe she was trying to prove a point to your grandfather…"

"She never gave an inclination at all. She was so surprised when I got my Hogwarts letter…" Hermione recalled. "And my father?"

"Well your father was introduced to your mother by dear Frank… your uncle…"

Putting two and two together, Hermione put in, "Neville's father."

Dora nodded, "Very good. I'd forgotten you and Neville were the same year at school. Well, if you look at the Black Family Tree, Alphard has been erased from many of them for betraying the family by giving gold to his nephew, Sirius when the boy ran away. He fell in love with your mother and changed his name to Albert."

Hermione's mind was racing. That meant that Sirius Black was her cousin.

How she missed her parents at this moment! All the questions she had for them… and she still loved them dearly, despite that they had kept these secrets from her for her whole life. Only now, in their death, did she discover who they truly were!

…Perhaps that's why they never minded that she spent so much time away from home… were their secrets lying out in the open, right in front of her very eyes the whole time…?

"Quite a story, really," Dora remarked, turning back to her meal. "In any case, I'll have one of the stable-hands give you some elementary lessons in riding tomorrow, darling. You head down there as soon as you wake up and go talk to Henry. He's a squib unfortunately, but the man could not be any more brilliant with horses…"

"Thank you," Hermione answered. She felt that, around here, she was constantly thanking someone for something. Everyone had done so much for her…

"I trust you are finding your room to be satisfactory?"

"Yes indeed, I love it immensely."

The dinner ended and Dora bid her granddaughter goodnight. Hermione retired to her room early – she had quite a lot to think about.

.

.

Author's Note: This is all you get for now. Lucky for you, my updates are many with little time in-between posts.

As always, leave comments or criticism.


	5. Zephyr

Chapter Four

She woke with the sun, as always.

Hermione dressed herself in some riding clothes Jalena had purchased on their outing. The tan pants with the brown leather inserts on the insides of her legs hugged her body tightly. She caught a glimpse of herself in the gilded full-length mirror and had to turn away. Her curves stood out, womanly at eighteen years old.

Trekking her way down to the stables, she sought out Henry. It was 5:30 in the morning, but Henry was awake.

He caught a look at her riding gear and knew exactly what she sought. After introductions were made, he brought forth the mare Callidora had purchased specifically for her granddaughter.

"Her name is Zephyr," he told her.

Zephyr was a seven-year-old chestnut Thoroughbred. She was very soft and sweet, gentle and with a good gait.

"Hello, Zephyr." The horse shoved her nose at Hermione, searching for a carrot, or a sugar cube. Hermione had come prepared, reaching into her pocket and presenting the horse with two red radishes she'd got from the kitchen staff.

Hermione was in no means healed from what Alan had done to her. Not yet. Perhaps it was better off that she'd been out cold. Perhaps not. But whatever she was feeling, it was far from content.

Animals can sense emotion much better than humans and horses are no exception. What Zephyr was able to glean was that Hermione was a kind soul that had been hurt.

Zephyr shoved her nose in Hermione's face, which prompted a very brief, tiny laugh.

"Are we starting with the basics?" Henry prompted.

"Looks like it," Hermione replied.

"All right then, let's see how fast of a learner you are."

Henry taught Hermione how to saddle up using an English saddle and a bit-less bridle that allowed the horse to graze in-between riding.

Hermione swung up onto the patient mare's back. After putzing around in the riding ring for a little while where Hermione learned the elementary stuff of riding basics, she and Henry decided to go on one of the shorter trails.

"Good experience for you," he grunted after suggesting it.

He saddled up a gelding named Rudolf and they were off at a leisurely walk. Zephyr seemed to be enjoying herself; She nibbled at the grass and various shrubs along the sides of the trail, while Henry pointed out plants that the horses shouldn't eat.

It was a broadening experience for Hermione – Hermione who once got on a broomstick and decided she never would again. But then again, this was also the girl who, when picked up by a full-grown troll tethered up in the Forbidden Forest, demanded he put her down!

The two picked their way along the easy trail, Henry constantly correcting her on some minor fault with the way her ankles were positioned, or reminding her to point her toes up, not down.

Before long, Hermione smiled a real, genuine smile. The first smile, in fact, since…

After the ride, Hermione's legs felt both like jello and a festering wound. Yet despite the discomfort, she felt something akin to joy. If it wasn't joy, it was definitely excitement. Recognizing this, Hermione became an instant horse-lover. She was converted.

As she began putting Zephyr away in her stall with some fresh hay, George the butler Apparated out of thin air, startling some of the horses. Others were simply just used to it, and were what many horse-lovers refer to as "bomb-proof."

"Message for you, miss," George relayed, turning to face Hermione. He looked quite out of place in his robes. "The mistress is having some important guests for dinner, which shall be formal tonight. The madam also wishes you to note that the family has already arrived and that she is engaged in formal discourse at the moment and shall be quite busy all day. She does stress however, that she will be looking forward to seeing you at dinner and that there shall possibly be some very exciting news."

"Thanks, George." Hermione wiped some sweat from her forehead: It was damn hot! "One question, however. By formal, does it mean evening-dress-formal, or little-black-dress formal?"

"I believe the little black dress shall be just the ticket, miss," George replied with a curt nod.

"Thanks again."

"One more thing, miss. What did the fish say when he swam into the wall?"

Hermione's mouth twitched into a smile. "I'm sure I don't know, George."

The butler grinned. "Damn." He Disapparated.

Hermione's lips remained ever so slightly upturned for a few moments as she took out the grooming brushes to give Zephyr the proper treatment. Brushing exactly how Henry had taught her, she moved on hand in little circles, then brushed straight with the other. She repeated this process again and again and it was clear the horse was enjoying it. She stopped chewing on her hay every so often to close her eyes and exhale before eating some more.

Finally, she moved to get to Zephyr's other side and repeat the process, when she noticed a figure standing in the doorway of the stall. It startled Hermione and made her jump, her eyes wide.

Leaning against the doorframe was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Utterly bewildered, Hermione turned red, "Malfoy! How long have you been there?" She had recently just had an entire conversation with her horse, though it'd been sadly one-sided.

"Awhile," he replied coolly, vague as Malfoy always had been. He crossed the stall with a single step, "May I?"

Hermione silently handed him the grooming brushes, which he took and began brushing her horse as though he'd done it all his life.

But considering Dora's reaction to her having never ridden before, he might really HAVE done it his whole life, Hermione mused. How strange to think of Draco Malfoy being a horse lover!

…So it was the Malfoys that Callidora was having for dinner. Very well then… Hermione could be polite and refined when she wanted to… Clearly they had learned she was a pureblood, judging by Draco's greeting. How strange it felt that he hadn't called her a Mudblood. Perhaps he hadn't yet thought of a better nickname.

Zephyr clearly recognized that this was a person used to horses. She stopped her munching and turned her head to Malfoy, dropping bits of hay on his shoes as she nudged him.

"You like horses?" She was still surprised. After all, this was the boy who'd been so rude to a hippogriff it'd slashed his arm open, which he milked for weeks in an attempt to get the hippogriff killed. Yet here he was, grooming a horse with expertise.

"A little," he grunted. He put a hand on the horse's nose and patted it. Then without another word, he handed the brush back to Hermione. He returned silently to his place in the doorframe.

It was silent again for awhile, except for the munching of hay or the low whinny of one of the horses in the pasture.

.

.

"So it's settled, then," Dora concluded, resting her hands in her lap in a stately manner.

"Settled and done, if you have nothing further to put in," replied Lucius Malfoy.

"Indeed, I don't. We seemed to have covered everything. Narcissa, have you anything to add?"

Mrs. Malfoy shook her head indicating she had no further input.

"Shall we adjourn to the parlor? I'm sure the other two will be thrilled at the news," Dora concluded.

Lucius rose from his seat and held out an arm toward Dora, who took it and rose. Dora walked arm in arm with Narcissa, accordingly Lucius stood to their left as was proper etiquette. The three left for the parlor; Dora called for George, who Apparated to her side.

"Please gather up Hermione and Draco, George. Have you any idea where they are?" said Dora.

"The last I knew, madam, your granddaughter had just become infatuated with the horses. I'll fetch her promptly," he promised.

"Splendid. I knew she would." Dora's creaky smile grew wide. Anticipation played on her lips. Only after George Disapparated did she say anything more: "This shall be the finest decision we've made in a long, long time, Lucius…"

Lucius's smile was ominous and bordering malicious. "Indeed…"

.

.

Author's Note: Thank you Alenor, Mrs. Hermione Jane Weasley and LikeEdwardLovesBella for your comments! I love comments... :-)

This chapter is for you guys.


	6. Dinner with the Malfoys

Chapter Five

Hermione showered extensively – it was hot out and she smelled like horses.

The shower was kind of neat: The walls and ceiling were all mirrors. Perhaps it was made to be easier to clean, but more than likely someone in the Black family along the years had been rather kinky.

Hermione detested this shower. She hated mirrors, but worse than that, she hated looking at HERSELF in mirrors.

It didn't look like her anymore and that scared her more than she would have liked to admit. Something was wrong with her body, her face, her – everything.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a huge fluffy towel around her then opened the door adjoining to her bedroom.

She started when she found Jalena in there.

"Oh good, you're out," the maid said briskly. "I've been sent to give you a make-over by your grandmother." She looked her up and down, "Not that you need it."

"Oh, um, I was just going to go to dinner…" Hermione attempted.

"I know, which is why we've gotta be quick. Lucky you're already pretty."

A half an hour later, Hermione had been dressed up in a simple black dress – very tasteful and cocktail party-ish. Her eyebrows had been touched up and Jalena decided she really didn't need any make-up.

"Just some cover-up under your eyes," she murmured. "You haven't been sleeping well?"

Hermione protested. "My sleeping patterns have only changed a little bit. I never used to go to sleep and wake up so early."

Jalena nodded absentmindedly, grabbing a chunk of Hermione's bushy hair and beginning to brush it mercilessly.

"Ow!"

"Hold still please, miss," the maid chided.

Using some magic, the hair was tamed, though not quite straight. Finally, she was ready.

"You look stunning! Knock 'em dead!"

Hermione's eyes clouded.

"Oh… sorry, I didn't mean…"

"It's alright. I'm just going down."

Hermione had thought a lot about her dead parents lately, often wishing her mother would cradle her in her arms, or her father would offer her encouraging words that really did mean quite a bit.

George winked at her from the bottom of the staircase. "I've been sent to fetch you, miss. But I see you've gone and beat me to it."

He led her to the Dining Room, opening the door for her and pulling out her chair.

Hermione had never eaten dinner with such unusual company! At one end of the table sat her unusual grandmother (dressed tonight in a frilly pink dress that reminded Hermione of the Fat Lady from Hogwarts, only Dora wasn't fat), and at the other end sat Lucius Malfoy. Narcissa was seated by her husband while Draco appeared to have been placed next to the only exmpty seat – hers.

She swallowed and put on a great show of graciously sitting next to the boy she'd once punched in the face back in third year.

The first course went without incident. Draco said nothing to Hermione and in turn, she did not acknowledge he was there.

Hermione hadn't been included in pureblood society long enough to be suspicious – but Draco was. Suspicious didn't even cover it for him. He KNEW something was up.

Generally according to the code of etiquette (surely a book all on its own) placed him, as the eldest offspring directly to the left of his father. Any brothers he might have would sit to his left, and so on.

However, being that he was an only child, Draco should have been to the left of his father and then to the right of his mother. Instead, he'd been placed to the left of Granger, which to outside eyes would indicate that they were engaged. Had he been to her right, they would have been married and in the presence of elders.

His thoughts were racing, but he was sure he knew what was up – and he was miserable.

Hermione was one-hundred percent oblivious; The small talk was all regarding family members she hadn't met and she wasn't really interested in her spinach and mushroom salad.

Somewhere, her mind decided to wander off.

She thought about her mother and father and how much she missed them. Then she dwindled on poor Crookshanks, whom no one had recovered after the fire. If he was even alive, the poor thing was probably homeless and hungry.

And then she was thinking about Harry and Ron. How she missed her two best friends! She began planning how to get away to see them for a couple days.

Suddenly all eyes were on her.

"Pardon me," she murmured: Her first words of the evening.

Dora gave her a stern look, then repeated, "We have some exciting news for the two of you."

Hermione looked around at who "the two of you" could possibly refer to. Her eyes landed on Draco for the first time. His pale, pointed face was staring pointedly at the table. He looked as though someone had just announced a death or something equally horrible.

In fact, he had the same face Ron had when Ron had learned that Lord Voldemort had returned.

Hermione didn't understand, but somehow she knew that whatever was about to be said would be BAD NEWS.

"As I know you are both aware, there aren't many purebloods left in today's society," Narcissa said in her soft voice.

"A pity," Lucius remarked offhandedly. Hermione frowned but said nothing.

Draco cleared his throat; He knew he'd been right – he was condemned.

"In any case, the three of us have got together to talk about this small tragedy," Narcissa continued, ignoring her husband, "and in discussion, we've decided that, given recent events and other…prudent bits of information, that it would be grand that the two of you get married. After all, there are many family ties that have yet to be tied."

Hermione' head whipped around to look at Draco. His pale face was tinged pink with what appeared to be anger and resentment.

Staring at her grandmother for a moment, Hermione comprehended what had just been said.

Feeling betrayed and about to be ill, Hermione forgot about etiquette or being polite. She stood up so quickly that her chair fell over backward and she ran from the room, tears threatening her eyes.

.

.

Author's Note: I do apologize about the short chapter. It just seemed like a good place to end it.

Thank you so much to RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, Readerforlife, Alenor, Mrs. Hermione Jane Weasley, AerintheWhiteKnight, and oreo69not96 for reviewing! I get really excited when I see reviews... even the mean ones.

AerintheWhiteKnight - I am still debating the whole prophecy thing. I mean, since this is post-Deathly Hallows and Voldemort is already dead, I think it'd be quite awkward to keep it the same. But at the same time, I don't want to change too much. Most of what I wanted the redo to be was time sensitive and with better descriptions and less rambling... I have a tendency to ramble... like right now, for instance.

oreo69not96 - Yay! I remember you reviewed very often on the original! Welcome back!!


	7. Faux Truce

Chapter Six

She collapsed on her bed in a fit of tears. Cursing her life repeatedly, she beat the bedspread with her fist whilst covering the pillowcase in tears.

She felt like she'd cried for at least a half an hour, though probably it was only about ten minutes.

Sitting up, she realized she was allowing herself to be trodden on. "They won't walk on me," she promised herself aloud. "They won't."

She leapt from her bed and smoothed her wrinkled dress. She knew what she had to do.

She rushed about her room, packing a few essentials hurriedly into a bag. She would go to the Burrow; The Weasleys would still be awake at this hour. She would go and she would never return to the Black Manor.

Just because Callidora was her grandmother didn't give her the right to…!

There was a knock on the door. Hermione stopped and stood completely still; Perhaps if she made no noise, whoever it was would assume she was gone.

No luck. The door swung open.

The first thing Hermione saw was platinum blond hair and a pointed nose. Draco. Draco Malfoy was in her bedroom. What the FUCK?!

It seemed that no one really wanted to give her any privacy.

He took his time looking around the room. In fact, the very last thing he looked at was Hermione herself and to be honest, Hermione didn't think it really counted, since it seemed more like he was looking at the wall behind her rather than actually AT her.

"Nice place."

Hermione raised one eyebrow. Of all the things for Malfoy to say at this moment!

"I'm leaving," she informed him. She expected him to react to this.

His expression didn't change. "They sent me after you."

Hermione crossed her arms and put her weight on one hip, taking a stance. "You can't stop me from leaving."

"By all means, leave," he drawled. He sunk onto her bedspread, looking surprisingly very much in place with the zebra pattern as a backdrop. "They'll just go get you and then things will be worse."

"They won't find me. There are wizarding laws against this. Hell, there are MUGGLE laws against this. Forcing someone to marry someone else is ILLEGAL, I can fight them for my rights!"

Draco considered this and knew she was probably right. He shrugged, "Give it your best shot."

Hermione paused, considering his indifference. Then she gave up and stuffed a pair of jeans into the bag. The bag was too small, so she enlarged it.

"Where are you going to go?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "As if I would tell you."

"Malfoy honor. I can try to defer my father, for what it's worth."

"Why the hell would you do THAT?" Hermione demanded. She was in a bad mood and her retorts were downright poisonous.

"You think I want to marry YOU?"

That stung Hermione more than she'd thought it would. Correction: The unexpectedness of the comment and the volatility in his voice downright HURT.

"I'm not THAT bad," she murmured in a tiny voice, more to herself than to him.

"Maybe you're not. It's probably best if we don't find out…" he thought aloud. "Though knowing my father, if you DO run away now, he'll have found you by the end of the night anyway. And he's far more dangerous and unpredictable now that he's been to Azkaban."

Hermione sighed. "What are you proposing?"

The statement seemed quite awkward given their current situation. Directly after she uttered it, Hermione regretted wording things that way.

"I say we go back down and pretend like you've come to your senses and changed your mind. Then, we can plan out a way to do the whole escape thing properly." He still wasn't looking at her.

Hermione turned this thought over in her mind. She hated to admit it, but Draco's suggestion made a lot of sense. More than that though, she hated that she hadn't thought of it.

She sighed and with some difficulty, she replied, "You're right… let's go."

She had admitted his idea what better than hers! Her answer surprised him, so much so that he accidentally did what he knew he could not do. Her looked at her – right at her.

Just looking at her – just looking made him remember. He would never, ever for the rest of his life forget her that day in the woods.

He and Yaxley heard the screams. They'd exchanged glances and in a moment's second realized they were obligated to do something… even if she was only a wretched Mudblood.

But by Merlin, where the hell had they hidden? It took them fifteen minutes to find her, and by then he had gone. That disgusting Muggle, whoever the hell he was.

Draco had not known the boy was a Muggle when he'd seen him. To see Hermione, her body twisted and bent, her hair matted with her own blood, lines from a knife riddling her body… naked. Draco had known from that moment that Muggles weren't as powerless as his father made them out to be. He was glad they'd healed her wounds before she woke.

He often wondered, when he allowed himself to wonder, why Hermione hadn't defended herself. It was such an un-Hermione thing to do; Usually someone of her level of intelligence would have been on top of that, surely.

She'd looked so helpless, so dead. For a moment he'd thought she was dead and was surprised how the thought made him angry. Not that it was because of her – but because no one should ever have to go through what Hermione had gone though.

The idea of violating someone in that way made him absolutely sick. Draco had thrown up quietly in the bushes after he was sure Yaxley had Disapparated to St. Mungo's. He couldn't bring himself to look away, somehow. She was so – something.

"Malfoy?" Her voice came like the reverie of a trumpet during a nightmarish dream.

He grunted. He hated when she looked at him with those soft brown eyes… like a doe, beautiful and earthly. He remembered those eyes opened wide and staring at the sky, making the rest of her body that much more eerie and wrong.

"Shall we go back down, then?"

"Yeah, I guess, Granger."

Hermione paused. "If we're going to be working together to get out of this mess, I suggest we call a temporary truce."

Draco rolled his eyes: Trust a Gryffindor to come up with that concept! But all the same, he had to admit it was probably for the better.

"Yeah, probably," he muttered.

Awkwardly, Hermione extended her hand, "Truce?"

Draco stared at her hand and then took it. "Truce," he agreed, but let go fairly quickly, as though afraid someone could see.

"Can I ask you something, Malfoy?"

"Shoot," he answered. She turned her head away so as not to face him directly; He was able to look at her again.

"Last year, when Harry, Ron and I were taken prisoner in your mansion, you were asked to identify us. It was pretty obvious it was us… but you just said, 'It might be.' Why did you say that? You could have outed us."

Draco shrugged, "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

She paused a moment. "That's it? That's the reason why?" He could tell he'd disappointed her.

"For Merlin's sake, do you think I'm as evil as my father?" he demanded, suddenly angry. "I'm really not all THAT bad, Granger. Not that you would know."

In a small voice Hermione retorted, "You never gave me reason to think otherwise, Malfoy. What about that time you gave me those huge teeth, or all the years you called me that horrible word, or in sixth year when you let all those Death Eaters into Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, well they would have killed my family if I hadn't done the last one."

"Oh," was all Hermione managed to say.

There was a ridiculously long pause that could very well have been called the end of the conversation.

Finally, "Shall we go back downstairs and pretend we've worked it out?"

"They're probably in the parlor by now," Hermione answered.

Draco rose from the edge of the bed and offered her his arm, still not looking her in the face.

Reluctantly she took it, and the two Disapparated arm and arm to the parlor to do some damage control, all the while both minds occupied on the other and how they could possibly fool everyone.

.

.

Author's Note: I like this chapter, I don't know why. It's kind of blunt.

Thanks so much to ReaderforLife, reader101, WinnieThaPoo92, AerintheWhiteKnight, oreo69not96, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, and xxDrAcO'sBaby4EvErxx for the reviews! Reviewers are awesome!

xxDrAcO'sBaby4EvErxx - I am not generally very humorous, but I will attempt. Later on though... this part of the story doesn't really warrant it quite yet. But I will keep your suggestion in mind as I continue to write this fic, thank you. Comments and criticism together are the best kind!


	8. Bonding Time

Chapter Seven 

The next morning Hermione woke, still painfully aware of last night's events. She wished she could forget everything… just pretend none of it had happened.

The sun had already risen but the sky was gray, as if the sun was reprimanding her for not having risen with it.

Despite some evil-looking clouds, Hermione pulled on her riding clothes and headed outside. As she made her way outside, she began thinking of last night: Her encounter with Draco, convincing her grandmother and the Malfoys that she'd changed her mind and would gladly accept the engagement.

She peered at her hand, where a small ring glittered gaily at her, completely oblivious as to how unhappy it made its wearer.

But something else was nagging at her mind: Draco's father, still suspicious of her intentions, had insisted that Draco stay at the Black Manor for the remainder of the week. Once that week was up, he wanted the two to live at the Malfoy Manor. They would switch off, week by week, up until August the 26th, which was the date that had been set for the wedding.

The wedding.

Hermione was going to get married – this was still a strange concept to her.

She had always liked to imagine her wedding; She wanted bagpipes to play the entry music as she walked down the aisle in the most beautiful white dress. The altar would be covered in lilies and wildflowers and her father would walk with her, finally giving her away formally to the man she loved deeply and truly. Her mother would have tears in her eyes, but Hermione would know it was worth it, because she and the love of her life were about to be joined forever…

But Hermione had learned long ago that Cinderella was one lucky bitch. Things just didn't happen the way they were planned; Something was always amiss.

For Hermione Granger, dreams did not come true.

Rounding the corner, she caught sight of none other than the Devil himself. Draco stood inside the fences, one of his hands resting on the shoulder of Turkin, an older Arabian gelding. The other hand gently massaged the horse's nose. He was whispering something to Turkin, whose ears stood upright, listening to every word, every sound.

Hermione watched this interaction for a moment before turning on to the stalls in search of Zephyr. Finding her horse, Hermione attached a lead rope to the mare's halter and led her outside.

Zephyr eagerly reached for the grass, deliciously wet from the dew. Draco must have noticed her out and about, because after a few moments, he headed unenthusiastically toward her.

"I'm slightly surprised you haven't escaped yet," Hermione greeted in an attempt at being friendly.

"Cursum perficio: I stay the course," Draco replied.

"I see."

Hermione paused, leaning against Zephyr, who didn't really even seem to notice her. She was considering Draco's words.

Draco wasn't really in the mood to say much, either. His mind was convinced that he would end up eventually married to this girl, no matter how much effort the two put into attempting an escape.

Forcing himself to take an outsider's view of Hermione, he realized that he was actually able to admire her.

He had to admit, he was glad she was intelligent and glad she was beautiful. Her hair was back in a ponytail, which cascaded down the back of her neck. He admired the soft features of her face, which matched her equally soft eyes, chocolate-brown. Her cheeks were ever-so-slightly rosy; Her lips were full; Her eyebrows were beautifully arched.

He also admired the way she dressed: She wasn't cheap like Pansy Parkinson, or most of the other Slytherin girls. Hermione was simple and not gaudy and because of this, her facial features complimented her form. Her clothes did not expose more than her arms but her riding pants, which hugged her hips and legs, betrayed a very well-developed figure.

And unlike many of the girls from school, Hermione wore no make-up. She simply didn't need it, because she was beautiful all on her own.

He was jolted back to earth when Hermione spoke again, "Would you like to go for a ride?"

Draco glanced at the horse, then at the girl. "Sure, why not?"

"Okay, I'll ask one of the stable hands to saddle up Turkin for you."

Once they were both situated atop their horses, Hermione pointed out several trails. Having only been down one of them thus far, she was excited to try out a newer one.

They rode mostly in silence, enjoying the morning air, which was light and breezy. After about a half an hour's ride, they came upon a small clearing with a pond. Hermione dismounted and tied Zephyr's long lead rope to a tree by the pond, allowing the horse to graze and drink.

"We should give them a break – it's hot," she explained.

Draco tied Turkin to a similarly placed tree and sat down by the edge of the pond, about four feet from Hermione.

There was more silence as Hermione picked at the grass absentmindedly.

"So how do you think we should go about things?" she asked aloud.

Draco paused to think a moment. "Well I know what the three of them are expecting us to do. We'll just have to act like everything's fine, then once they've decided to trust us, we hide."

Hermione frowned, "And what sort of things does that entail?"

"You know," he answered, leaning back onto the grass, "like going on…"

Dates. Hermione knew he meant to say it, but neither of them could bring themselves to utter the word.

"Like where?"

"Well these riding sessions are good," he remarked offhandedly. "It's kind of like bonding time, right?"

Hermione thought of bonding with Draco Malfoy and snorted. Zephyr looked up at her expectantly.

"What?"

She fidgeted, "Well, I've just never thought this would happen to me… and you. I mean, I never thought I would ever NEED bonding time with you."

Draco shrugged. "It's what they want from us. Among other things. Tomorrow we can go riding again, then visit the Louvre if you'd like."

"You… like art?" Hermione's eyebrows raised.

"I paint sometimes," replied casually. "Not that you'd know, but most pureblood families make sure their offspring are good at a number of things, magic only being one of them."

"Like what?" Hermione was curious.

"I don't know – like art and riding and dueling and stuff."

It was the end of the conversation. They mounted their horses once more and continued on their way.

Draco got severly annoyed when he learned that Hermione had never jumped with a horse before and she had to go around a fallen tree.

"I'll teach you tomorrow," he muttered.

Hermione's cheeks burned red from embarrassment and she didn't know why. Perhaps it was the demeaning way Malfoy had promised to teach her to jump. More than likely, it was because she was used to already being better at him in everything anyway. She had never thought Malfoy could teach her anything she didn't already know.

She still had a lot of trouble imagining this boy that had bullied her for years enjoying time with horses. He certainly knew his stuff.

They left separately for the Black Manor. Hermione went back to clean up and speak with her grandmother.

She got clean and presentable, but found her grandmother to be engaged in a business meeting with some important ministry member or another. Hermione didn't care to keep track anymore.

Having a couple hours on her hands and with nothing to do, she decided that if she left word with George where she was going, no one would bother her.

George agreed she was right, but insisted she be back in two hours. With what must have amounted to a smile for her these days, Hermione took some Floo Powder from a small tin by the fireplace.

"The Burrow!" she called clearly.

.

.

Author's Note: Short chappie, I know... but don't worry, the next one's bigger.

Thank you RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, GoodCharlotte615, xxDrAcO'sBaby4EvErxx, Readerforlife, AerintheWhiteKnight, likeEdwardlovesBella, and sureynot for reviewing. You guys rock.

GoodCharlotte615 - I know. Out of curiosity, I re-read my original not long ago and wow... I was astounded at how young I sounded when I wrote. I know that's a weird thing to feel, but my writing has developed so much since then, I didn't really think the old story did much justice...


	9. The Burrow

Chapter Eight

With a flash of green flame, Hermione opened her eyes to a sight so comforting and familiar she almost wanted to cry.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected when she was to appear, but it might have been something exactly along the lines of what happened. Ginny was the only one in the kitchen when Hermione materialized. The others were nowhere to be seen, but it was evident that Weasley life was still present and very little-changed.

Ginny looked up for a moment and blinked. "Hermione?" she nearly gasped.

"Ginny!" Overwhelmed with longing to hug her friend, the two girls embraced.

Ginny smiled a very wide smile. "We were so worried about you! But you seem to be doing really, really well. How's Aunt Dora?"

Hermione's face fell, "Do I have a lot to tell you…"

"Do you want me to get Ron, too?"

"No, just hear me out. I just need to tell someone – in fact, maybe it's best if what I tell you, you don't tell Ron just yet." Hermione was apprehensive of her friend's reaction to her news.

Ginny nodded, "Come on, let's go to my room."

Hermione was practically dragged by an eager Ginny to the second floor.

...But something caught her eye on the way there...

Mrs. Weasley was alone in the sitting room and she was crying softly, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She was clasping a handkerchief in both hands and peering longingly up at a portrait on the wall of the twins, Fred and George.

Just George now.

Hermione felt slightly ill all over again, remembering that final battle – Fred had not been the only casualty of that match.

And suddenly, she was seated opposite Ginny on her friend's bed, covered by a huge, red and gold homemade quilt. Just like that, marrying Draco didn't seem so bad.

I have lost my parents, Hermione thought, but Mrs. Weasley lost one of her sons. A parent should never have to bury their own children…

Ginny seemed to sense what was on Hermione's mind. "Did you spot Mum?"

Hermione nodded. "Does she do that often?"

Ginny was grave, "Every day. Sometimes Dad, too." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "But George is worse. He's moved back in, but he almost never leaves his room." The redhead shook her head sadly, "He sometimes forgets to eat. Don't get me wrong – we all miss Fred something horrid, but George and Mum are worst. Though Percy feels really guilty: He thinks it's his fault."

A lump formed in Hermione's throat: What she wouldn't do to have Fred back with his family. The Weasleys were precious to her – possibly some of the only real family she had left. Such people did not deserve a sorrow of this magnitude. Poor George…

"So what did you want to tell me?" Hermione could tell Ginny was both curious and looking for a distraction from the thoughts in her mind.

Halfheartedly, Hermione launched into her story. Ginny's eyes grew wider and wider, until her eyebrows almost disappeared beyond her bangs.

When Hermione had finally finished, Ginny paused a moment to take it all in. "Well what are you going to do? Where are you going to go?"

"We don't know yet." It struck Hermione as odd that she had said "we" – her and Draco Malfoy.

"I could ask Dad if he knows somewhere," Ginny suggested brightly.

Though Hermione wasn't sure exactly how much help Arthur Weasley would be, she felt somehow relieved. Glancing at the clock on the wall however, she realized that if she stayed much longer, George the butler would come looking for her.

Explaining this to Ginny, Hermione watched a little frown etch itself onto Ginny's face.

"I'm going to talk to Dad, but don't worry, I'll do it in private. I can see why you don't want Ron to know right now."

"Is Harry coming this summer?"

Ginny nodded. "He's actually here already. But at the moment, he's out in Godric's Hollow, rebuilding his parents' house."

Hermione slyly caught the look on Ginny's face and silently wished things between her and Ron had worked out. Ginny was still very obviously in love with Harry.

"You're finishing Hogwarts this year, right?" Ginny asked.

Hermione snapped out of her reverie, "Of course. It IS me after all, Gin."

Ginny giggled, "It's going to be so weird – you'll be Eighth Years. But still, I guess it's just good that your year is allowed to finish up. It would have been impossible for anyone to think of finishing last year."

Hermione agreed, very glad to be returning to Hogwarts, but at the same time wondering how on earth she COULD if she was running away from marriage to Malfoy. Going back to Hogwarts would be like forgetting the summer; Forgetting the summer meant escaping from Alan and his twisted life, as well as the death of her parents.

Determined to straighten the details out later, Hermione implored Ginny once more to talk to her father in private, then took her leave of the Burrow.

.

.

Upon returning to the Black Manor, a sense of dejectedness immediately rendered Hermione quite depressed. When she thought of it, she was glad she hadn't seen Ron – things were a little awkward between them after their break-up.

Luckily, Dora was out of her meeting with Marco Bartoloni, the Italian Minister of Magic. Hermione knocked softly on the already open door.

Dora looked up from some very prudent-looking document, her huge spectacles magnifying her eyes. "Hermione, darling! Oh thank goodness – come in, my dear, come in."

Hermione walked into the study, her eyes quickly taking in the place. It was very richly adjourned, like the rest of the house, though she took note of the portrait stretching across an entire wall, depicting a herd of zebra running across the plains of Africa.

"I wanted to follow up with you after last night," Dora said, removing her spectacles and gazing at her granddaughter with a look that Hermione felt could both pierce her heart or soothe it.

"I'm perfectly alright with your decision," Hermione answered. Her stomach wrenched at the lie.

Dora looked at her harder. "No you're not. Darling, ever since I'd learned you were born, I was quite excited. I was sure you were going to be the apple of your mother's eye and, in turn, my own."

Hermione lowered her gaze to the giant mahogany desk.

"And after the death of your parents – both dear people – and I learned I was to be your guardian… well, I must admit, I was a little frightened."

Hermione must have shown surprise very obviously, because Dora chuckled.

"Yes, I was frightened. I had never met you, but I had heard of your successes from your mother and father: Top in your class every year… taking every class Hogwarts offered in your third year, and making Prefect. I was proud of you and when we finally met, I knew you really were quite an extraordinary young lady."

Hermione felt her face grow hot as she blushed.

"You are a young woman with so much going on in your life. You have so much to offer! I wanted the perfect match for you, my dear. Purebloods have always done things this way: Arranged a marriage between their offspring and some suitable young person."

"But why Draco Malfoy, of all people?" Hermione questioned.

Dora looked thoughtful, "True, his family's name was slightly tainted after that awful business with the Dark Lord. They have many redeeming qualities, however. And I have known Draco since he was a very young boy; I held him in my arms when he was a baby. He is really quite amiable and a very good conversationalist. On top of that, he is clever and very intelligent; I also happen to think he's not too bad on the eyes." The older woman winked.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to say anything; The Draco Malfoy she knew was none of these things.

Dora sighed, "Darling, had I known a decision I had made would make you so unhappy…"

Hermione tried not to see things from Dora's perspective, but it seemed she couldn't help herself. Callidora Black was a traditionalist, still caught up in the past. Things were different now.

But Hermione still wondered, in a world so advanced, how arranged marriages even worked out. Surely there were at least a FEW purebloods who rebelled against the old-fashioned practice?

Offhandedly she remarked, "It's just that I thought arranged marriages were an out-of-date practice. Isn't it illegal?"

Dora observed her a moment, "Perhaps it is out of date; I'm not the best judge of that. But illegal is something it is not."

Hermione vowed to look up the exact law later on.

"Oh, look at me! I'm just a crazy old woman with too much on her mind." Dora looked very sad and old in that moment. "I should have consulted you first; How was I to know my decision would upset you? I would never wish to upset you, my dear."

Hermione almost felt bad for Dora – but she still felt more sorry for herself. "Isn't there a way to repeal the engagement?"

Dora looked horrified at the very idea, "Oh dear! Of course not! How rude would that be? Besides, such an agreement has been made with Binding Ink. Even if the parchment is destroyed, the contract itself will live on. I'm afraid we will all have to just grin and bear it."

Frustrated, Hermione nodded as though she completely understood. She had become very good at hiding her true feelings.

"I have some very important business that unfortunately, must be taken care of before dinner," Dora concluded. "I will see you at dinner tonight?"

Hermione nodded before exiting. Binding Ink – that would complicate things.

But there are some things about Hermione Granger that will never, ever change no matter what happened to her. One of these things is her determination.

Hermione was determined. It was time to head to Dora's extensive library. If it took all week, Hermione would find a legal way out of this contract…

She wouldn't become Mrs. Malfoy without a fight.

.

.

Author's Note: Thanks so much RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, sureynot, Readerforlife, SquishyGirl, xxDrAcO'sBaby4EvErxx, GoodCharlotte615, and CullenHaleLuvr94 for your reviews. You're awesome. You all deserve cookies or tacos, depending on your preference!

sureynot - The more I write, the less I think it will be like its original. I am trying though, but by making it Post-DH, some things will really have to change, especially in the end. Plus I kind of like Dora, so I'm not sure yet if I'll kill her or not. So best answer: I will have the same plotline, but most parts will be altered.


	10. Jumping Lessons

Chapter Nine

Dinner that evening was awkward, at best.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were over for dinner again, for just another night. All talk seemed to revolve around the wedding, something both Draco and Hermione were attempting to forget.

"Draco darling, have you thought of your best man, yet?" Narcissa asked. It became very evident to Hermione from the conversation that Narcissa Malfoy's world revolved around her son.

"Blaise Zabini," Draco grunted. He took a second helping of the stuffed duck – to Hermione, it seemed like he was trying to drown his sorrows in whatever he could find, and that included food. He was also on his third glass of wine.

"And Hermione, have you thought of your maid of honor?"

No, Hermione hadn't thought of anything regarding the wedding, which she was determined would NOT happen.

"Ginny Weasley," she supplied the conversation.

Dora looked very pleased at the news, though Lucius' lip curled a bit. It was clear that his impression of the Weasleys had not changed much, despite Azkaban and the fall of Voldemort.

The wedding talk seemed not to end. It was like Narcissa was trying to plan out the entire thing right then and there.

Finally, Hermione had enough. She excused herself, having eaten about a quarter of what Draco had already consumed, feigning a headache and asking permission to retreat to her room.

Dora nodded, "Of course, my dear, of course."

But Hermione did not go back to her bedroom – instead, she made her way upstairs and into the library. If she had anything to say about it, this wedding would never take place.

Hermione Granger had been walked on and abused enough this summer. It was time to take charge.

On top of that, after what Alan had done to her, she was determined that no man should ever touch her in a romantic way ever again. Men were scum and she would never allow herself to be betrayed again. Ever.

No man would touch her – least of all Draco Malfoy.

.

.

Hermione woke with a start at 5 o'clock the next morning, several books stacked beside her and one open on her chest.

Rising carefully, her head turned to face the glass doors of the balcony. The sun was rising, a blend of red, yellow and gold.

She stretched and got out of bed, then dressed to go out riding. She was sure no one would be awake at this hour.

She headed outside, a hazy figure in the light, early-morning fog. To her surprise, she found Draco had already saddled up Turkin. He was taking some jumps, testing out the Arabian's skill.

Hermione watched him discreetly, amazed at the grace in which he took the jumps, one after the other. There seemed to be no difference between horse and rider, each reading the other like a comfortable book.

What caught Hermione's eyes the most was the look of determination on Draco's face. His eyes, a gray the color of the sea before a storm, were completely focused. His thin lips made a determined line across his face.

After watching a few moments, Hermione tore her eyes away. She still had a hard time believing that the boy on the horse was actually Malfoy.

Heading into the stalls, Hermione was greeted by Zephyr. The mare was sleepy, but quite happy to exchange sleep for some fresh, sweet grass.

Finally spotting her, Malfoy made his leisurely way over.

"I never knew anyone woke up as early as I did on a regular basis," he commented.

"It's something kind of new for me," Hermione replied.

Draco slicked his hair back with one hand. "Ready to learn to jump?"

Jumping was not something Hermione was good at, it turned out. She and Zephyr both wanted to do two different things. After about an hour, Draco got fed up with her and did his own thing again, completely ignoring her.

Hermione felt ashamed with herself for not being able to grasp the concept, but more than that, she was angry with Malfoy for being a total jerk about it.

Leaving the ring, Hermione clicked her tongue and Zephyr shoved off in the direction of the woods.

The trail was a good one, but afterwards Hermione still hadn't felt any better about herself. She cast a spiteful glare in Malfoy's direction.

He was dismounting Turkin as Hermione approached him.

"You know, Malfoy," she began, feeling venomous, "I thought, since we called a truce and everything, it was quite rude of you to be so dismissive of me earlier. Considering I haven't been riding long, I think I'm doing just fine."

Malfoy didn't reply for a moment, his fingers working at loosening the girth and removing the saddle from the sweaty gelding. He knew she was pulling his strings. She wanted an apology: Draco Malfoy does not apologize.

"Did it ever cross your mind, Granger, that you're not the only one who's unhappy with this little arrangement? Did you really think I WANT to marry you? Trust me, it wasn't very high on my list of priorities."

The suddenness of his spiteful words hurt. Hermione frowned, a little sad.

After a moment, she decided that she was way above spiteful words. Without anything more than a look, she nudged Zephyr with her ankles and they walked back, horse and rider, to the stable.

Draco sighed to himself; He knew he should apologize. If he was engaged to the girl, whether or not they got out of the arrangement, he should at least be on civil terms with her. His life would be a living hell, otherwise.

"Granger!" he called. He saw her head turn, but she did not ask the horse to halt. She was ignoring him! The nerve...

Grumbling to himself, he gave Turkin one last pat on the nose before hopping over the paddock fence.

He found her giving Zephyr a bath. She hosed down the horse, then brushed her, removing enough horsehair to make a throw pillow.

"Granger," he began, "I didn't mean that to sound so harsh…"

"Well, Malfoy," she interrupted, putting a little extra elbow grease into brushing the horse than usual, "contrary to what YOU think, I believe it's YOU that has to realize I don't have the slightest inclination to marry you. I'm the one who's contacting people to find places to hide and looking up laws about Binding Ink in the library. All YOU have been doing is drinking eight glasses of wine with dinner."

Draco was stunned, but he recovered quickly. He felt a little guilty… just a little.

"Point taken, Granger." A Malfoy never admitted defeat – they just altered their plans a little. "What did you find?"

"Well, I'm waiting for a response from the source. I expect it sometime around mid-afternoon, perhaps." She was using her very best know-it-all voice, "And as for Binding Ink, there's no way to get around it, except for using the same ink to correct the document."

"My father will have thrown it away," Draco mumbled.

"And as for pureblood marriages," Hermione continued, not hearing him, "there is a practice that has gone out of date, but it still applicable. If we obtain the same inkwell of Binding Ink to correct the document, we must also get the persons involved with signing the document to put a drop of their blood on the parchment. After that, it must be burned."

"That's the only way out?"

"It appears so."

There was some silence in the stable as Hermione continued brushing the horse.

"Anyway, I'm going back up to the library after I shower, just to make sure there isn't an easier way."

"I'll help." Draco was surprised at his own forwardness.

Hermione frowned at him before she realized she shouldn't. She managed a weak smile. "Well, that will help. You can check along the far wall while I start at the front."

Draco noticed she was trying to keep him far away from herself, even when they were working together. Well that was okay: He didn't really want to spend quality time with her anyway.

Draco left for the house after a few minutes; Hermione seemed to be preoccupied with her own thoughts as was he.

Retreating to the Black Manor, he went to the room he'd been given for the week and took a hot shower in the adjoining bathroom. A shower would feel nice, especially after the morning's events.

He felt especially warm near his groin. Gazing down at his body in the shower, he recognized his erection. Cursing himself, he tried to ignore it.

It was persistent: He would have to do something about it. He realized he actually had to do some thinking as to when the last time he'd had any sort of sexual encounter was.

There it was! Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin girl in his year. Her father was still in Azkaban. She'd given him a blowjob at the end of sixth year.

…Sixth year…

It was so long ago.

And sex…?

He'd had sex with Pansy Parkinson sometime in the middle of sixth year.

…Sixth year…

Again, it was so long ago.

He looked down again to face his restlessness. He wondered when he would next have sex.

"Well if I DO end up with Granger, I'm never going to be having sex again in my life," he muttered aloud.

The thought depressed him more than he cared to admit, so he convinced himself he hadn't even thought it.

With a sigh, he peered down at himself again.

"Persistent fucking thing," he grumbled, resigning himself to his hand.

.

.

Author's Note: Thank you to Readerforlife, Alenor, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, AerintheWhiteKnight, brooklynsam3, and xxDrAcO'sBaby4EvErxx for your reviews! Reviewers rock!

brooklynsam3 - I'm actually in debates about keeping that part with the renfaire. I was thinking of keeping a lot of the same characters, but maybe not the faire setting. Not sure, yet. Keep reading to find out!!


	11. Connections

Chapter Ten

They met in the library, but after a couple of hours, having found nothing, decided to concentrate on a different aspect of their plan instead.

The Malfoys might become suspicious if they didn't hear their son and his fiancée went on at least ONE date.

"The Louvre?" Draco prompted.

Hermione nodded. The Louvre might be just the thing to take her mind off of their predicament for a few hours.

The Floo'd to the secret entrance for wizards. Hermione pulled out her purse for a couple sickles to pay entry. Draco put a hand on the clasp of the purse to indicate she wouldn't need it. He brushed her hand by accident; It tingled for a few minutes afterward.

"Malfoy," he merely said to the man at the back entrance.

The man bowed deeply, "Welcome, Mr. Malfoy. Will you be staying past closing time again?"

"Not today," Draco answered.

"As you wish. Take as long as you fancy."

Without another word, Draco led Hermione into the museum. All the while, she was turning the encounter over in her head: Apparently, not only did the Malfoys get free access to the most renowned art museum in the world, but Draco also frequently stayed there past the time it was due to close. And nobody questioned this.

Interesting.

The two spent three and a quarter hours in the museum. It is said that it would take two months to see everything in the museum – Hermione had only been to the Louvre once before with her family when they went to France on vacation one summer.

Her family…

She peered up at an original Degas, remembering having stood in front of the same ballerinas with her mother and father, admiring the beautiful brush strokes. She could remember her father's voice commenting on the exact color of the pink dresses and the way the contours of the bodies were subtle yet refined.

Jeannie Granger had never been much of an art buff. But, Hermione wondered, Malfoy said he had been taught to paint when he was young. If most pureblood families did so, perhaps her mother only pretended to hate art because it reminded her of her past…

The skeletons her mother and father had been hiding in their closets…

After Hermione and Draco decided they'd had enough for the moment, they headed back toward the barrier into the Floo area.

"I always wondered why no one ever told the Muggles about making moving things. I mean, Monet would be so much more interesting if the water lilies under his bridge closed at night, or if the water rippled every so often." Draco wasn't really talking to her – more to himself than anyone.

Hermione still replied, "That's what real life is for, though. If paintings were like life, life wouldn't be nearly so interesting."

Draco considered this thought. He didn't say so aloud, but he agreed that she had a good point.

Once the two were back at the Manor, Hermione noticed a tiny ball of feathers whizzing around outside the window.

"Pigwidgeon!" she exclaimed, quickly opening the window.

The tiny owl flapped his way inside, clearly ecstatic at the idea of his being a messenger. Hermione had to grab him out of the air like a softball. He hooted happily as she took the letter from him.

Draco's eyebrows raised, "Who owns HIM?"

"Ron," Hermione answered monosyllabically.

Draco's eyes rolled. He would have loved to make a comment, but for the sake of keeping peace, he withheld.

.

Hermione-

My dad says that as soon as possible, you should come over to discuss your options. Literally as soon as you get this letter, if you can get away. He also wants to know if the contract was signed in Binding Ink if you can find out.

See you soon!

Ginny

.

"Well… what does it say?"

"It says there might be options," Hermione relayed, not sure if the last bit about the Binding Ink would matter. "Mr. Weasley has some ideas. I'm going to go and find out what they are."

"And, these options… do they apply to me, as well?" Draco felt awkward attempting to express himself.

"I think so."

They looked at each other for a long time. Draco found he could stand this best when he pretended to look at her eyes, but rather focused on her eyebrows. They were nice… beautifully arched.

"Would you like to come?"

The question came as a complete surprise and Draco responded with his answer before he gave himself time to think about it: "Why the hell would I go there?"

Hermione stiffened. "I was just trying to be polite, Malfoy. If you still don't think much of the Weasleys, even after they're attempting to help us out of this situation, maybe you can go discover your OWN way out."

That said, Hermione destroyed the letter with her wand and turned on her heel to leave. She got almost all the way to the fireplace to Floo before Draco realized he'd been an asshole.

He Disapparated to two different fireplaces before he found the one she was at.

"Malfoy, fancy meeting you here…"

"Listen Granger, because I'm apologizing for the last thing I said and a Malfoy never apologizes. My father, when he returned from Azkaban, became bent-set on making sure that his heir – me – would be properly married to a witch of pureblood ancestry. Somehow he found out that I'm the last Malfoy; He wanted to make sure our family line continued.

"A handful of pureblood families stopped caring after the Dark Lord fell," he continued. Hermione was listening with rapt attention, never having heard Draco talk so much at once. "So he found out about you, the granddaughter of Callidora Black, one of the most respected witches on this side of the world and also not directly related to us."

"That's good to know and all, but I don't see how it can…"

"Please don't interrupt me: I really hate explaining things: Such a waste of time. I think there's something more to this contract. Binding Ink is so old-fashioned and hasn't been used for years. Why would they use it now? Why was regular ink and the fear of being rude not good enough?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered honestly. "If I knew, I wouldn't still be looking for answers."

"Don't you find it a little bit…odd… that my father, even after knowing who you were and you being Potter's friend, still wanted us to get married? There's something behind all this. My mother and I might have seen the error of our ways, but my father… has not."

"Well whatever the reason, I'd like to find a way out before something ridiculous happens. Are you coming or not?"

He sighed, "Shit. Yes, I'm going. What's it called?"

They both grabbed handfuls of Floo Powder. "The Burrow," Hermione answered clearly.

"Typical," he muttered darkly.

"Um, maybe I should go first," she suggested lightly.

Draco only grunted and stepped back, setting down the jar containing the Floo Powder.

Hermione took a step up to the fireplace and threw in the powder. The fire roared with green flames, glinting off the stained glass windows on the opposite wall. She stepped into the flames and said in a strong, clear voice, "The Burrow."

It took less than a second to whisk her away. It was almost like she'd never been there, except Draco could still smell her there very faintly. It reminded him of autumn, her smell: Something like pumpkin spice. It suited her well; Pansy always wore rose perfume or some overpowering shit.

Draco waited a few seconds, wondering if someone would hex him as soon as his blond head appeared in the fireplace. He realized, however, hex or no hex, he was going to have to man it.

He cursed once more, feeling satisfied with his choice of words, and then resigned himself to the task at hand: "The Burrow."

.

.

Author's Note: xxDrAcO'sBaby4EvErxx, AerintheWhiteKnight, brooklynsam3, Readerforlife, GoodCharlotte615, sureynot, and RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder... you guys are awesome! Thanks so much for the reviews!!

AerintheWhiteKnight - No, I really can't imagine Draco as a clown, though I bet it would be very humorous. Still... considering how much we all know and love Draco, I'm not sure I'd have the heart to do that to him... haha


	12. Weighing the Options

Chapter Eleven

As soon as Hermione stepped out of the fireplace she was taken aback. It almost seemed as though the Weasleys had been waiting for her!

Mr. Weasley was seated at the table reading the Daily Prophet while Harry and Ron played wizard's chess as Ginny watched. Hermione noticed Ginny's eyes rarely left Harry.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, his chair flying backward as he stood up. He seemed to cross the kitchen in one step, pulling her into a tight hug such as Hermione hadn't had since before her severe miscalculation with Alan and the death of her parents. She almost felt like crying, but withheld; Harry was such an easy person to appreciate.

From Harry's embrace, Hermione heard to whoosh of the flames from the fireplace, signaling Draco's arrival.

"Malfoy," she heard Ron growl. He stood up, just like the skyscraper she remembered him to be – at LEAST six and a half feet.

"Ron," Hermione silently pleaded.

"You didn't say you were bringing HIM…"

"We're in this together," she responded firmly. She locked eyes with Ron and was shocked to find every emotion Ron had been feeling since their break-up plastered there, so easy to read. She had to look away. There were a lot of emotions in her eyes as well, had she known it.

Draco assessed the situation and decided it was best to play it cool: He was in the lion's den now – a place where snakes do not belong. He leaned casually against the fireplace and ignored Ron – though it took a lot of effort.

"We heard," Harry said, looking Hermione up and down as if to assess she was in one piece. "Ginny told us. Mr. Weasley thinks there might be a couple ways out…"

Suddenly, Hermione found herself wrapped in another pair of arms and recognized the cooking smell. Mrs. Weasley, it seemed, had forgiven her for not dating her youngest son.

"Oh, Hermione dear, I knew something was amiss! I'm so glad you're safe and in one piece… what are they feeding you there? You're thin as a bone! I'll whip something up right away…" She bustled over to the stove and whipped her wand around, preoccupied with cooking. She hadn't even noticed Draco.

"Why don't you have a seat," Mr. Weasley said, speaking for the first time. He gestured to a couple chairs opposite himself, looking from Hermione to Draco. "Both of you."

Hermione sat down almost immediately; Draco sauntered over casually.

"Both…?" Mrs. Weasley turned around and, spotting Draco for the first time, nearly jumped in surprise. "Oh… well… I suppose, I'll just… have to make a double batch…" Hermione did notice, however, that she glanced back several more times before she was finished cooking.

Hermione could tell Ron had wanted to take the seat next to her and found she was actually glad she was seated next to Draco instead. It would certainly save all the awkwardness at any rate. But she would deal with Ron later.

"Now I'm under the impression," Mr. Weasley began, "that if the two of you merely asked to get out of this situation, the request would be denied, correct?"

Hermione nodded. Mr. Weasley had aged quite a bit since she last saw him; She would bet ten galleons it had something to do with Fred. "There was a contract," she explained, "and they wrote and signed it in Binding Ink."

Mr. Weasley sat back in his chair as though contemplating this new roadblock. Mrs. Weasley's head turned in surprise.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, curious.

Typical, Draco thought to himself, typical for Potter to ask the mundanely obvious.

"It means that the contract signed has binding properties that will force a witch or wizard to go through with the task at hand, no matter the circumstances," Mr. Weasley explained.

"Well… why don't you just burn it?" Ron inquired.

Hermione rolled her eyes, typical of Ron to ask the question most easily snubbed.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple, son. The only way out of a contract signed in Binding Ink is through a very unique process, or to hide from it."

"Hide?" Hermione prompted. "Hide from a binding curse? How is that possible?"

"Well it's kind of tricky – you have to essentially become someone else."

"Like, with polyjuice potion?" Harry prompted.

Hermione shuddered; The last time she'd taken polyjuice potion, she'd been nearly turned into a cat and had to spend a few days in the hospital wing.

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "That is one way… but it'll take awhile to brew the potion and from the sound of things, we don't have that kind of time. No, the easiest way to hide from a spell like that is to essentially do SOMETHING that you two normally wouldn't do."

"Like…?" Draco prompted. It was his first time speaking; Ron glared at him.

Mr. Weasley faced the younger Malfoy with genuine forgiveness, as though all the trouble his family had caused them over the years was now nothing to him. Ginny and the diary, all the insults, trouble with the Death Eaters, and the slights on their wealth… were all forgotten.

"Well I'd suggest going on the run."

"Going on the run," Hermione repeated. "But how will that help?"

"Well," Mr. Weasley explained, "I expect you don't often go on long trips around the country without a purpose in mind except to run?"

Hermione thought about it and realized he was right: She, Ron and Harry went around the country a few times, but they had been looking for something then… and Ron had been a total wanker about the whole thing.

…Come to think of it, what had she ever seen in Ron, anyway…? People had warned her not to date a ginger, but she'd always brushed them off. Looks like they'd been right the whole time, after all…

"So we're supposed to just leave?" Draco demanded, snapping Hermione out of her reverie.

He was challenging Mr. Weasley: Everyone in the room sensed it. Mrs. Weasley paused in her cooking, while Ron, Harry and Ginny tensed. Hermione glanced Draco's way, hoping to catch his eye to warn him, but he wasn't looking at her.

Only Mr. Weasley seemed not to notice, though Hermione had a sneaking suspicion he'd merely ignored it. He replied, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

"I think what Draco meant to say…" Hermione butted in cautiously, "was something more along the lines of: how is going on the run going to make us into a different person?"

Ron and Ginny visibly tensed and Hermione wondered why for a moment before she realized: she'd called him Draco… not Malfoy… Draco. As if they were FRIENDS, or worse…

In fact, Hermione thought as she glanced sidelong at Ron, the only reason he WASN'T throttling Malfoy at the moment was because Harry and Ginny had both positioned themselves conveniently in front of him to prevent this very thing.

"Binding Ink is a strange move to be taking," Mr. Weasley ruminated, "especially considering how outdated it is. No one yet has been able to figure out why going on the run seems to make the contract null and void for the time being, but it does. I wish I could explain it, but Hermione, knowing you, I'm sure you'll find the answer somehow on your own. My only suggestion would be to leave as soon as possible."

Harry cleared his throat as though he knew he was about to ask a stupid question. "But, sir – couldn't they just go through with the contract, then make another one to void it out and sign that one with Binding Ink as well?"

"Interesting idea, Harry," said Mr. Weasley thoughtfully, "it certainly would work that way."

"But along that same line," Mrs. Weasley piped up, serving up some delicious-looking hot scones with butter, "you could keep making more and more contracts until you've made a never-ending circle."

"Besides, Hermione would actually have to marry that git," Ron remarked snidely.

Hermione gave him a look and replied, "Ron… STOP IT."

She said with such a firm tone of voice that even Draco was taken aback. Since when did Hermione Granger come to HIS defense?

"Hermione, can I talk to you alone for a moment?" Harry inquired, looking at her in a curious way.

She nodded and excused herself from the table, taking a scone with her.

As soon as she and Harry were safely in the next room, he pulled her to the side farthest from the door. "Listen, Hermione, I understand you've been through a lot this summer and I hope you realize that I'm only talking to you now because I care about you."

Hermione nodded: Harry meant so much to her… she felt tears sting her eyes, but swallowed them. Now was not the time to get emotional.

"I can understand you're on the run with Malfoy, but do you even LIKE him?"

Hermione pondered this thought for a moment. Did she? She supposed she did, yes.

"Yes," she answered truthfully, "he's a bit of a jerk, but he's not all that bad deep down. I think he's changed."

Harry stared at her for a few moments and she blushed a deep crimson as though the words she'd just uttered were blasphemous.

"Do you LOVE him?" Harry almost seemed to dread her answer.

Hermione thought about this, too. Did she? Really?

"No." Harry breathed a sigh of relief that was so sudden, Hermione hadn't even realized he'd been holding it. "Why?"

"Well he's not exactly chummy with us, as you know. He's never been."

"He practically tried to defend us last year when we got caught," Hermione reasoned.

Harry considered this: "Yes, that's true, I haven't forgotten. But, Hermione – I mean… haven't you noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"Well…" This was clearly hard for him to say. "I mean, he doesn't exactly look at you as though you're someone he trusts. He doesn't have any patience for you, either. Are you sure you don't want me or Ron to go with you instead of…"

"I'm not going anywhere with Ron," Hermione butted in, putting her foot down. "Besides, this is mine and Draco's fight. Draco – although he's not perfect and he's got a short temper when dealing with me – has reason for this to not want to go through, just the same as me."

"Hermione…" Harry's eyes softened, "he was the one, you know… who found you…"

She stiffened. "…Found me?" But she knew exactly what Harry was talking about.

"You know… last month…when…"

Hermione's heart stopped a moment – and then, suddenly, it was beating a thousand miles a minute.

The fact that Draco had seen her naked was the least of her worries at the moment. In fact, that thought only registered for a split second before she realized it must have been Draco that'd called St. Mungo's.

Draco Malfoy had seen what had happened to her. He saw… he'd done…?

"He… saved me?"

Harry ran this hands through his hair, still unruly after all these years. "Well… yeah. But I still don't fully trust him around you. I mean, anyone would have…" He was having a hard time talking about it, so instead he pulled Hermione into a hug, "I'm so glad you're alright, Hermione." As he let go, he took a long look at her, rather like a parent surveys their child. "I just don't want to see you get hurt anymore: How can you tell this isn't just a very cleverly planned plot against you?"

Hermione bit her lip: How COULD she tell?

.

.

Author's Note: Huge, huge, huge thanks to Readerforlife, xxDrAcO'sBaby4EvErxx, Michelle Marie Maire, brooklynsam3, sureynot, GoodCharlotte615, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, and angieLATgirllmafoXD for reviewing!! Also, just so you know, I'm going to be in Florida for a week and a half. I'm bringing my laptop, but I don't know how much I'll be updating for that time. I haven't abandoned this! I'll be in Disney World with my kids... which should be both extremely hectic and very fun.

Readerforlife - I gotta say this - I love how you review every chapter, even though it's always just one or two words. Really, most people won't leave one unless they have a question or something. Have a cookie.

Michelle Marie Maire - Yes, I remember your reviews from the original. I'm glad you decided to stop by and try the re-do, I felt it was much needed. Welcome back!


	13. Cloaks and Colors

Chapter Twelve

Harry could sense Hermione hadn't thought through all the aspects of this new, strange connection she had to Draco. Not thinking things through wasn't something Hermione usually did – but after everything she'd been forced to endure so far that summer, Harry didn't blame her at all for not acting herself.

"Hermione, if you want me to come with you…"

"No," she repeated firmly.

Harry nodded as if he understood, but made a mental promise to make sure he could check up on her well-being at least every other day. She didn't want him to travel with her, but at least he could track her…

Somewhere inside himself, Harry could feel that the Malfoys were going to harm Hermione further. She was so vulnerable now. Maybe what gave him such an odd vibe was how Hermione and Malfoy had been such natural enemies before. He recalled third year when Hermione had slapped Malfoy across the face for poking fun at Hagrid. All those times he'd called her a Mudblood, too. A fresh wave of anger washed over Harry as he remembered all the trouble and anger Malfoy had caused them over the years.

"Hermione…" Harry attempted once more.

"No." Her tone was final, so Harry dropped the subject, resigning himself to the back seat in this particular adventure.

Hermione had never thought about Draco having any ulterior motives before. As she and Harry made their way back into the kitchen, she wondered… was it possible that Draco was trying to gain her trust in order to eventually drop her and leave her all alone in the world, or possibly dead?

Somewhere in the confines of her mind, she didn't think so. But there was still that nagging fear, nonetheless – Hermione buried the thought as best she could. She sat down at the kitchen table with the same impassive and expressionless face she usually donned for one of Dora's dinner parties.

Inside the kitchen, there was a whole different atmosphere. Ron still looked like he wanted to strangle Draco right then and there and Mrs. Weasley was fretting about one thing or another. Ginny was munching on one of the spare scones, while Draco… was immersed in conversation with Mr. Weasley?

Hermione did a double take on that last one.

Draco Malfoy… and Arthur Weasley… were having a conversation that did not include snide remarks or full-blown insults.

Again, very interesting.

Draco looked up as Hermione entered the room and their eyes locked for a split second before she was forced to drop them to the ground. It had been HIM who'd found her that day… he had saved her life: Or it was at least some sort of equivalent to that, anyway.

She sat down very rigidly in the familiar kitchen seat. Draco noticed her straight-backed uneasiness and rolled his eyes in spite of himself – whatever Potter had said to her had clearly struck a nerve or else, hit home. He hoped she wasn't going to try and back out at the last minute.

"…Right… and they travel around on horseback," Mr. Weasley was finishing.

Hermione didn't know what the conversation had been about, but she was intensely aware of how suddenly Draco's feelings had changed. He was positively brightening at something; Well… brightening for a Malfoy, anyway.

"Sorry for the delay," Harry interrupted jovially, "would someone mind filling us in?"

"Arthur has some friends up in Northumderland," Mrs. Weasley supplied, her warm eyes darting to Harry, then to Hermione. "Bill squeezed them out of a tight spot with some goblins a few years ago and they think they owe the family a debt."

"So I'm going to contact them to see if they'll add two more to their party," Mr. Weasley finished.

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione lied.

All eyes turned to her in surprise; "It… does?" Ron queried, surprised despite himself.

In truth, it did NOT sound wonderful to Hermione. She would be traveling around with a bunch of people she did not know and one Draco Malfoy. No, that sounded terrible.

How could she travel with people she didn't trust, save for the boy who'd discovered her when…

And by Merlin, she was so tired… so very, very tired. She just wanted to lay her head down and forget pain, forget the drama, forget everything…

But she wouldn't think of that now.

"Sounds good," Draco finalized, "how soon can we leave?"

Ron stared unabashedly and Harry gaped unknowingly. Ginny, on the other hand, was far more composed than everyone gave her credit for, and went to retrieve some spare toothbrushes.

Draco attempted to flash a quick grin in Hermione's direction; He was so terrible at grinning, however, that he more resembled a Cheshire Cat or a shark. Hermione didn't notice – carefully ignoring his eyes – but Harry did. And Harry did not trust the expression on Draco's face one bit.

"I'll go contact Patrick right now, if I can," Mr. Weasley offered, "the sooner you leave, the harder it will be to find you."

"And we'll have to get the cloaks out of the attic," Mrs. Weasley supplied. "It's cold in Northumberland."

"If you can get them back from the ghoul," Ron muttered snidely.

"Well thank you for volunteering, Ronald," Ginny snapped.

Ron, mouth agape, looked at his mother to defend him, which she did not.

"Excellent idea, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley agreed briskly, "off you go, Ron."

Ron huffed to himself, pride wounded, but still trudged reluctantly upstairs. A few minutes later, a loud crash ricocheted from the attic, followed by a chorus of unearthly wails.

"Patrick!" Mr. Weasley howled into the fireplace. He was checking all the campfires around the Northumberland province and had so far been unsuccessful.

"I'll go check on Ron," Ginny offered, taking her leave of the room.

"Patrick!"

Mr. Weasley was having no luck locating his friend, but in the meantime, Ron and Ginny eventually appeared with a large truck. The handles and clasps were old-fashioned and Hermione thought it resembled the one Merlin had in that ridiculous Muggle children's film… what was it called? The Sword in the Stone?

Yes, that was it. Funny how her normal, Muggle life seemed so difficult to remember now that all traces of it had been destroyed…

The latches of the trunk wouldn't open, so Ginny used the Alohamora charm. As she did so, the lid flew open and emitted a cloud of dust, rendering everyone into a brief coughing fit.

"Shall we dig in?" Ginny suggested brightly. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the nearest garment and held it up to display. It was a long, green velvet cloak with a silver clasp.

"That's too short of a hem for you, Malfoy," Harry pointed out in an attempt at civility.

Draco shrugged and Ginny handed the cloak to Hermione. It was a little short – but considering how wet and cold it usually tended to be that north of England, maybe it was a good thing there weren't those few extra inches.

Hermione was given another black cloak and Draco was given a similar black one, as well as a crimson one.

Although Hermione wasn't sure, she had a feeling she knew what was going through Draco's mind: Odd that Hermione should get the green color of Slytherin and Draco the crimson of Gryffindor… but most likely just an odd coincidence.

There were a few other things in the leather chest, as well: Two small knives, some riding pants, a rosewood fife and an old, Spanish-made sword encrusted with rubies.

Hermione vaguely wondered why the Weasleys hadn't sold the sword, as it was probably worth quite a few galleons. Her thoughts disappeared, however when she was handed one of the knives and all but one of the pairs of pants, which all happened to rather snugly fit, except one pair, which was far too large.

"Do you know how to fence?" Draco's question surprised Hermione.

"No, I can't say I do," she admitted, making sure not to meet his gaze by pretending to be interested in the knife she'd been given.

"Do you mind if I take the sword, then?"

"YOU know how to fence, Malfoy?" Ron demanded.

"I've been taught, yes." He sheathed the sword into its old, beaten-up scabbard.

From somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione recognized that Draco wasn't really acting like the Malfoy she remembered from school; There was something different about him this time around. He was being a bit more of a gentlemen about things, while still regaining his meticulous and arrogant nature. With a wry grin, she realized he was acting exactly like the Beast from Beauty and the Beast – at the parts where the Beast was starting to control his temper, anyway.

"Patrick!" Mr. Weasley yelled – for what seemed like the hundredth time – into the fireplace. Hermione wondered how much Floo Powder could possibly be left at this point.

"I'm here! I'm here! What do you want?" an irritable voice demanded, finally.

Mr. Weasley clearly hadn't been expecting an answer, because he jumped a little bit as the voice echoed into the kitchen and a bodiless, hairy face appeared on top of the pile of ashes.

"Oh! Arthur! Long time no see!"

"Patrick, my old friend…"

A smile broke out onto Mr. Weasley's face for the first time, probably since Fred's death.

"So what brings on this visit? I know you didn't call me all the way down here just because you wanted to chat."

Mr. Weasley explained the entire situation much better than even Hermione herself felt she could. As for Draco, he hated answering questions AND explaining himself; Letting someone else do this menial task was merely a given to him.

"Of course! Happy to be of service! And I haven't forgotten about my debt to you, either." Patrick laughed lightheartedly, "We've got extra horses, too – three of them, so there's somewhat of a pick."

"Why don't you two go get into your things," Mrs. Weasley suggested.

Hermione went into Ginny's room on the second floor to change, while Draco occupied the bathroom. She wore tan riding pants, tucking the small knife into one of her boots. Fastening the black cloak around her neck, she was determined to look as un-Slytherin as possible.

It seemed Draco had been thinking along the same lines, because when he emerged, he was wearing the black cloak, as well.

He couldn't want to harm her, Hermione tried to convince herself. Hell, they were almost on the same wavelength!

"Shall we?" Draco offered her his arm.

Attempting to be civil, she realized.

"Yes," she replied nodding, though she pretended she hadn't seen his extended arm.

.

.

Author's Note: Thank you all for being patient while I was in Disney World! I had a blast and the kids were (for once) finally tired out. That's always a relief... Oh and not to mention that I have now officially been converted to the Twilight series.

Big thanks to brooklynsam3, AerintheWhiteKnight, BelhavenOnTap, sureynot, Readerforlife, oreo69not96, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, GoodCharlotte615, WinnieThaPoo92, angieLATgirllmafoXD, and Shaiya 'tears-in-her-eyes' for the reviews!!

BalhavenOnTap - You're probably right. He's the Byronic hero, I guess. Dark and brooding and all that.

GoodCharlotte615 - Well they've all grown up quite a bit. I mean, the twins were born around the time of the other fic and they're FOUR now. Seems like eons ago. Lira's now eight and Galen is nine - which is frightening because next year he'll be in the double digits. It makes me feel old, kind of but not really at the same time because I get to re-live my childhood. Who doesn't love Aladdin?


	14. Another Brick in Antonine's Wall

Chapter Thirteen

"Take care of yourself and don't give Malfoy an inch."

Those had been Harry's departing words. They seemed so long ago, but in reality, it had been only four days.

Hermione had been given a bedroll to sleep on and a sturdy gelding without a name. These things were so impersonal there was no way to make them hers.

But then, that was the general idea.

They'd been riding for days – Hermione was unsure as to whether or not there was a destination in mind – but the plan was working perfectly. She did not feel like herself. She had no privacy, even to collect her thoughts.

Last night, she'd learned how to ride and sleep at the same time. The morning had arisen before Hermione had convinced herself she'd gotten sleep. There was a heated fencing match between two of the men in the group that morning; One of them was named John, but she wasn't sure of the other.

But it was the other who'd caught her eye. Later on that day, she resolved to speak with the boy. He had won – if there had been time, Hermione might have found him quite intriguing.

She hadn't spoken to Draco in the four days that had passed and she was actually quite relieved. It was much easier to forget about his pale, pointed face when he wasn't around. And forgetting him meant a step in the direction of forgetting herself.

.

.

That night, the group hunted.

They set up camp in an open area near a sort of half-crumbled, old wall made mostly of stone. Three larges fires were started and a small group of the men went off to see what kind of game they could bring back.

Meanwhile, Hermione found herself sandwiched between two of the female members of the group around the first fire. On her left was a matronly figure named Janice, plump with child. To her right was a beautiful young girl with a face that held immeasurable sadness.

What a cheerful and exciting crew, Hermione thought to herself.

The woman, Janice, seemed to share her sentiments, "Look at all these LONG faces!" She had a thick Irish brogue. Getting to her feet with some difficulty, she announced to the company, "This is no way to live, I tell you. Some happiness, please."

The girl to Hermione's right smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Other members of the group were just as lethargic.

From behind, one of the members of the band started tuning his fiddle.

"That's the spirit, Max!" Janice exclaimed, pulling a young boy to his feet and beginning an embarrassing dance around the fire with him. The boy grew excited and started dancing around with her, laughing exuberantly.

Their joy was hard to block out. Before long, many members of the troupe were up and about, if not dancing than chatting animatedly. It was such a change from their usual morose way of life that Hermione vaguely wondered if she was dreaming.

"May I have this dance?"

The voice was unfamiliar, but Hermione thought she'd always known it at the same time. She turned and was surprised to come face to face with the boy who'd won the fencing match that morning.

"Of course," she obliged before remembering she wasn't too much of a dancer. She went to the Yule Ball in fourth year with Victor Krum… but she hadn't danced in the four years since. "I must warn you that I'm not much of a dancer."

"Perfectly alright," he assured her, sweeping her off her feet in such a way that Hermione had been convinced wasn't possible except in novels.

Upon further inspection, the boy looked remarkably like Draco, but for the fact that his eyes were a bright, sparkling green. He also had a tan; Hermione was sure Draco had never had a tan in his whole life. This boy was also a bit shorter than Draco, reaching jut to about Hermione's own height.

"I don't believe we've met. I'm Adrian."

"It's a pleasure," Hermione answered, fumbling with her manners. How quickly she'd forgotten them!

He smiled, amused, "And you are?"

A red tinge flushed Hermione's face, "I'm sorry. My name is Hermione."

"Hermione," he repeated, as though he was tasting her name, "that is a beautiful name. Tell me, from where do you come from?"

"I used to live in Cheshire, but recently I moved in with my grandmother in Merseyside."

"Lovely area, that," Adrian remarked.

"Indeed."

Hermione found herself enjoying Adrian's company until the fiddler decided to take a quick break to relieve himself and Adrian was asked for by a very brazen girl with flaxen hair.

For the first time in what seemed like months, Hermione found she'd enjoyed herself – certainly not as much as she had that one night at the Yule Ball, but it was progress all the same.

Sitting down, she vaguely began to wonder what Victor Krum was up to these days. They had both changed so drastically; Would she even recognize him if he walked by?

"We've got mail."

The voice was sudden and indifferent. Hermione looked up to find Draco standing in front of her, a few pieces of parchment in hand. She hadn't seen him in all of four – or was it five? – days: That he was addressing her directly now came close to completely astounding her.

Trust a Malfoy to only speak to someone when they needed them for something.

"This one's yours," he continued, thrusting a piece of parchment at her.

Hermione took the paper, unsure of what to expect. It turned out to be a Hogwarts letter, spewing the same mumbo-jumbo as it did every year, but continuing on to talk about the special nature of the eighth years and that they were to be combined into a single grade with the seventh years.

"Same old crap," Draco remarked. Hermione wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to himself, so she remained silent.

They were silent for a long while, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

Something struck Hermione, "What's the date today?"

It took Draco a moment to figure out that he didn't know the date, either. He cast a simple spell Hermione resolved to found out about later, and replied, "August the 15th."

That meant that term was only a half a month away! They could be safe at Hogwarts.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by Adrian, who strode over, "Can I pressure you for another dance? I seem to have been abandoned by my partner."

He didn't really seem to mind having been "abandoned." A half of an amused smile blossomed on Hermione's face and she stood. Adrian bowed and took her hand.

Despite herself, Hermione could only wonder what kind of impression this gave Draco. As soon as she finally got the right angle to get a good look at his face, she was disappointed to find him studying a third piece of parchment – not at all interested in the fact that this boy was giving her attention.

Some fiancé.

But… WAS he her fiancé? Should she really consider him that? Probably not: She didn't even consider him a friend, let alone her betrothed.

Before long, Draco reached the end of the letter and Hermione noticed his eyes scanning the group of people dancing. He was looking for her in the crowd, probably to ask if she was a Prefect. She was, of course.

Adrian was droning on about someone or another in the group when Draco spotted her and began to stride purposefully their way.

It only took him a few seconds to reach them. "Hey, kid," he butted in, "if you don't mind, I need her back."

Hermione wondered if it was on purpose that he only referred to her as "her" instead of by name.

Adrian had clearly been taken by surprise. He looked Draco up and down twice and his eyes narrowed, "Who the hell are you?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Draco Malfoy, not that it's your business."

Hermione wondered what was in the letter that had got Draco into such a foul mood. She hadn't seen him this bratty since their earlier school days.

The wheels in Adrian's head seemed to be spinning; He was standing in such a way that none of his body was left unguarded – almost like he was expecting an attack. It was clear that this boy was an experienced fighter.

"Yes, of course. I'll be seeing you around Hermione," he almost whispered. He did not turn his back on Draco until he was well out of range.

Things just kept getting stranger and stranger around here.

"So before lover boy interrupted," Draco began, leading Hermione to a seat, "I've been keeping tabs on our families and I thought you should be updated, as well. Since we're in this… together and everything."

Hermione might have been angry with him, had she not been more curious. It still struck her as unusual that someone would refer to Dora as her family; Somewhere in her mind, she was still just a nice old lady that was taking her in until her parents got back from vacation.

But that was never going to happen, Hermione had to remind herself. Her parents were dead. Dead. And dead meant gone for good.

"What did the letter say?"

Draco eyed her like he knew everything that was going through her head – but of course, he didn't.

"My father's got people looking for us in every province of England."

It took Hermione a moment to realize the extent of this. Was he searching the ENTIRE ISLAND?

"He's turning the country upside-down," Draco confirmed her suspicions. "But the most important thing to note is this: Somehow, my father knows we haven't left the country."

Hermione hadn't thought of things from that aspect and it was indeed, very serious. If Lucius knew they were still in England, what was to stop him from finding them as soon as tomorrow? One island wasn't going to offer enough space to hide them, especially not from Lucius Malfoy.

"Why does he want us to get married so badly? You'd think he wouldn't want anything to DO with me," Hermione murmured.

Draco looked at her, but only quickly; It was hard to look at her and not think of her as fragile.

"I was wondering that, myself," Draco admitted. "Blaise has been keeping me informed."

Hermione looked up at him and in that moment, he saw the question in her mind: How do we know that Blaise Zabini isn't going to sell us out?

"He's a very loyal friend," Draco attempted, "he's the one who dropped the false lead that we'd gone to the Isle of Man."

Hermione looked to her feet. It was August the 15th. The wedding date was eleven days away and school began five days after that. Could they stay hidden for another sixteen days with only Blaise Zabini for comfort in knowing that Lucius was on the wrong trail?

No, Hermione didn't think she could do that. More than ever, she wanted the warm, safe arms of her mother.

If her mother and father had been alive, they would never have allowed a union such as this. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy – these were two people who could never fall in love. Ever. Period.

Jeannie Granger would never have allowed her daughter to have been forced into any marriage. Quite frankly, before the disastrous events of the summer, Hermione knew she wouldn't be sitting in the background of some unknown place, just hoping that big, bad Lucius Malfoy wouldn't find her and force her to marry his son.

Something inside her woke up, not for the first time, and it was furious. Something would have to be done about this situation, because Hermione Jane Granger did NOT wait around for trouble to hit her in the face.

No. Hermione Jane Granger stood up and fought. Or at least, she used to.

It was true that she didn't want to marry Draco. But if truth be told, she would rather be Hermione Malfoy than someone like… Hermione Longbottom. It wasn't that Neville was a bad person, it was just that he was so… Neville.

There was something alluring about Draco, though she never would have admitted it to herself. But she was sure that if she became the next Mrs. Malfoy, her husband would be a rare sighting – like a bottlenose dolphin in the English channel. She could all but pretend he didn't exist...

"Did you know about this wall?" Draco prompted.

Hermione had all but forgotten he was there. "No, what about it?"

"It's a part of what's left of Antonine's Wall."

Of course, the lesser-known of the Roman walls built in the North, the little brother of Hadrian's Wall.

But something about this piece of information didn't seem right to Hermione. It took a moment to get her Muggle history straight, but unless she was mistaken…

"Draco, if this is Antonine's Wall, we're in Scotland."

To his credit, Draco was quick realize the importance of this information. "If we're in Scotland…"

Hermione's eyes lit up. "…Your dad isn't going to find us here. We're safe."

.

.

Author's Note: Thanks a bundle to sureynot, Readerforlife, brooklynsam3, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder and GoodCharlotte615 for the reviews!

I made this chapter a little longer, since someone complained that the chapters were too short. Hope you all enjoyed!

P.S. Remember to review!!


	15. Duel!

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, the troupe woke with the sun in order to pack up camp and move on. They were traveling north, which could only brighten Hermione's spirits, despite that everyone else had sunk back into their usual gloomy routine.

Adrian paid Hermione a morning visit to bring her an extra biscuit and a carrot he'd snagged for her horse. The horse was probably more grateful than Hermione. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy Adrian's company – he surely was a gentleman – it was just that he looked so much like Draco she couldn't help but think of the youngest Malfoy every time Adrian appeared.

As if trying to make matters worse on purpose, Draco had decided to keep an eye on Hermione, as if he expected her to leave and go crying back to the Weasleys for comfort. He was suspicious and irritable, probably because he lacked the proper means now to slick back his hair in his traditional way. It hung limp and slightly mussed-up in front of his face, turning out to be longer than Hermione had realized.

Draco rode up on his horse without so much as a saddle, looking cranky, a frown etched into his face, pale as marble.

Hermione lowered her eyes as he approached. If he noticed, he did not say anything about it.

"Get lost," he spat at Adrian.

"Woah," Adrian said defensively taking a step back and glaring at Draco with venom, "you have serious issues, man.

"Bugger. Off." The words were so final even Hermione was surprised they'd been uttered.

"Adrian's just being nice," Hermione muttered, still not looking Draco in the face, "you don't have to be so rude."

Draco gritted his teeth.

Adrian took a step forward, "Are you two dating or something?"

Draco's jaw tightened – the very idea of him dating Hermione Granger! Of course they weren't a goddamn couple. All he was trying to do was keep her in one piece until the end of the month, after which he could escape to school and never worry about her again…

That was the original plan, anyway. Lately he'd been worrying about other stupid things, like her happiness. Since when had he cared? And why did it bother him so much that she could never meet his eyes?

"No. We're not a couple," Hermone half-whispered. Draco turned out to be quite frightening when he was this worked up.

"So then why does it matter if I decide to make friends?" Adrian demanded, nostrils flaring.

Draco stood silent; Hermione was watching him out of the corner of her eye as she tightened the girth of the saddle around the horse. Finally, Draco shrugged. Hermione felt disappointment creep up on her, although she wasn't really sure what she had wanted him to have said.

Adrian raised one eyebrow, "You are one guy who needs to make up your mind."

"If you'd just gotten lost like I had originally suggested," Draco countered, sliding off his horse to stand face-to-face with Adrian, "we could have got this conversation over with a long, long time ago."

It was an odd sight to see: The two boys looked so remarkably alike that it reminded Hermione of watched someone argue with their reflection in the mirror.

"You want to fight me?" Adrian suggested, a wild glint twinkling in his green eyes.

Draco didn't even attempt to protest: Adrian's smirk was enough to make up his mind. The little brat actually thought he could win! He would never have been able to live up to it anyway, had he refused. He would be mocked for the rest of the damn month if he didn't fight.

"Fine," he muttered darkly, throwing off his cloak.

"Fencing, fists, or wands?" was the next big question. "I'm skilled in all three."

Those seemed to be the magic words because members of the group began to gather around and some of them groaned as they saw between whom the fight was taking.

John, the loser of the previous day's match shouted, "Teach him a lesson!"

A thin woman with a harsh face named Ursula swooned a bit as she saw the fight brewing. "You didn't pick a fight with ADRIAN, did you? Oh no!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide.

Draco's lower jaw jutted forward in defiance. For the first time, Hermione noticed that Draco Malfoy – the little twit who first made her life at Hogwarts miserable – had grown up.

"Fencing, fists or wands?" Adrian repeated.

Draco weighed these options in his mind; He was no good at fist fighting – such a barbaric way of solving things, anyway. His father had always taught him that it was better to hex someone's turned back than it was to raise fists.

Fencing, he was skilled at. But he was skeptical about the sword he'd been given. He would have to go with wands.

"Wands," he chose.

Ursula nearly swooned again, "He had to pick wands… he had to pick wands…"

Adrian smirked – a very Draco-like thing to do, really – and said, "You won't last long. Wands is my expertise."

Draco pulled his wand from the scabbard by his side and Adrian produced his from the inside lining of his cloak.

"Be careful," Hermione murmured subconsciously. She had always hated fighting, especially after the Great War.

Adrian scowled, seeming to know that Hermione was talking to his adversary. It took a Draco a few seconds to consider her words; She had just told him to be careful. So what, though? She just didn't want him to loose an arm, right?

At that moment, the fact that she cared did mean something to him – he was just too inexperienced with matters such as those to realize it.

Peering at the two boys with their wands extended, Hermione began to grow worried. They seemed an even match; Heck, they even looked so much alike that had she not known any better, she would have said they were brothers.

"Any rules you'd like to state first?" Adrian asked, feigning politeness, though it was clear he would quite enjoy ripping Draco's head off.

Ursula began to hyperventilate.

"None."

"I don't think killing is quite necessary!" someone shouted out.

"Yeah, sure," Adrian agreed, waving this suggestion away and twirling his wand in his fingers. "You ready, weasel?"

Weasel.

WEASEL!

Draco began to fume; His blood boiled. Weasel! That's what he called Weasley! The very idea of HIM being called a WEASEL!

He saw red.

Draco tapped his wand a couple times; A few red sparks issued angrily out of the tip. Very stiffly, he bowed to his adversary.

Adrian made a flourish out of bowing swiftly and deeply, beginning the match as he was still coming out of the bow, hurling four jinxes at his opponent all at once.

Draco managed to counter three of the jinxes with a shield charm and dodged the last at the last second.

By the time he'd had a chance to defend himself, another curse had been thrown his way that took the form of a jaguar-like shape made of black smoke and glowing red eyes. The creature snarled and attacked Draco in a frenzy.

Finally managing to banish the thing, Draco was unsurprised to find himself covered in bleeding wounds. Adrian smirked and threw some extra jinxes.

The wounds were slowing Draco down, however and it was only due to another impenetrable shield charm that he remained unscathed from this round.

In a last-minute decision, Draco sent a hex Adrian's way that the boy was unable to block and occupied him long enough to come up with a few more jinxes to paralyze him. Hermione was sure he wasn't supposed to know some of the curses he was yelling.

Everywhere on Draco's body that was wounded began to fester slightly, turning a nasty shade of purple around the openings of the cuts. Whatever the thing that attacked him had been, was apparently poisonous.

Adrian had been true to his word – he was a very skilled dueler. Hermione found herself clutching at her sides, feeling helpless and wishing she could do something to stop them fighting.

Draco unwisely spared a glance at his wounds, which cost him when a shock was sent up his spine. A noise of fury escaped his lips, almost animal-like in its ferocity as he sent back a curse so powerful that it made Adrian go careening backwards into a tree, where the excess power that had gone into the curse made scorch marks around Adrian's body imprint.

Adrian hit the ground and lay still for a few seconds before groaning in discomfort. Draco took this moment to catch his breath; His opponent was down, and despite all assumptions regarding his character, he had been taught to duel fairly. Adrian could have five seconds to get up.

With a yelp, Adrian came to his senses, remembering that he was in battle. It was just a split-second too late however – Draco used his reserve curse before Adrian had the time to recover his senses and form the words for his next hex.

Wand at Adrian's throat, Draco was the clear winner of the duel.

The entire match had taken less than one minute.

There was a moment's awed silence before the troupe burst into cheers: They loved a good fight and this certainly had been that.

"Come on now, let's get you fixed up," a thin man with a ridiculous moustache prompted Draco. The crowd began to disperse. Adrian looked up at Draco, an expression that was too venomous to be classified, even as a dirty look. Hermione had a feeling the true fight wasn't really over.

The thin man was quite quick in healing. He used a few spells before locating the correct one in draining the venom from Draco' body. Then he set to work healing his wounds; All in all, the process was over in ten minutes and the band was ready to get moving once again. Excitement had ceased for now, but Hermione was sure the duel would be well talked-about for days.

Draco's mood, however was just as foul as it had been before the match and he snapped at her for several trite omissions, such as forgetting to tighten her riding boots properly.

.

.

Author's Note: According to my word count, this chapter is just as long as the others, but for some reason it just doesn't seem it to me. Ah well...

Thanks a ton to: TheGreatAmericanNightmare, brooklynsam3, Readerforlife, GoodCharlotte615 and RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder for your reviews!!

You know... with Draco being so much like himself, I really need to think harder as to how to get him to be more amiable. He's like a pale, bullying Mr. Darcy, isn't he?


	16. Behind Enemy Lines

Chapter Fifteen

They rode all day and Hermione grew steadily more uncomfortable with Draco riding beside her. He remained in the same bad mood for the majority of the morning and his horse seemed to feel his tension; It threw its head around quite a bit and even nipped Hermione's gelding once or twice, much to her annoyance.

It began to rain around midday, but that wasn't unusual for that part of the world.

The more silence that passed between the two of them, the more awkward Hermione felt. She couldn't stand to see Draco's face, because he was someone who had seen her so unprotected and vulnerable: They rightly should never have had to speak to one another again.

Draco, on the other hand, enjoyed the silence. It allowed him to get quite a bit of thinking done. For instance, why was it that Hermione had a hard time looking him in the eyes? Was he imagining this? And if he was, WHY became the important question. Had he done something wrong?

This is where his brain rebuked him: Since when had he and Hermione been on good terms, anyway? And when had he stopped calling her Granger?

She was avoiding him. Why? Well, he wasn't about to grovel at her feet to find out.

He stole a sideways glance at the young woman riding beside him and felt a weight on his chest, as though stones were being laid upon him. He hated looking at her – hated to think of her lying in the woods that day…

But he couldn't look away. Was it her vulnerability that had attracted his gaze? It was a very peculiar feeling not to want to be around a person, but not daring to leave their side for fear of their well-being.

The troupe stopped to make camp in a stretch of woods to shelter from the rain.

"You'd better be careful," John warned as he rode by, "there's rumored to be dragons in the woods!"

"Great," Hermione muttered under her breath. Draco snorted.

As soon as they stopped to make camp, Patrick approached her, the first time he had done so since their arrival.

"The Weasleys are trying to contact you," he relayed, pointing to a small fire someone had managed to get going through magic.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat and she was astonished at how elated she immediately felt. It was a connection to the outside world! A connection to those she held dear, once more!

Draco rolled his eyes at her back as she hurried away. Yet, this was something so Hermione-like, he found he would have been disappointed had she reacted in any other way. There was something charming about the simplicity of the things that made her happy.

"Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione exclaimed at seeing the disembodied head in the fire.

"Oh, Hermione dear, how are you? Are you okay? Are you warm enough? Are you hungry? How…"

"I'm fine," Hermione interrupted, "I'm perfectly alright. Do you have any news? Did something happen?"

"Not that we're aware of," was the kind-hearted reply, "we're just very worried about you… poor Ron's got himself all in a tizzy."

Hermione swallowed loudly as she thought about Ron for a moment. How much easier it would be if she'd stayed with him! In fact, if she had stayed with Ron, she would never have met Alan and she might have been at home to prevent her parents' death. Her whole summer could have been Malfoy-free.

"Oh, hold on – Harry wants to talk to you, dear…"

Hermione nodded and waited for Harry's messy, black hair to take Mrs. Weasley's place.

"Hey, Hermione," he greeted brightly, his eyes making a quick surveillance of the area before focusing on her.

"Hello, Harry. How have you been? What about Ginny? Have you heard anything important?"

"Fine, fine and no," he answered, green eyes aglow with delight at seeing his friend in one piece. His eyes had never looked like that until Voldemort had been finished off. In a lower voice, he continued, "How's Malfoy? He hasn't been out of hand, has he?"

Hermione sighed, "No, just his usual grouchy self. I really don't think he's out to get me or anything, Harry. I think he wants to get out of this just as much as I do."

Harry nodded glumly, almost as if this hadn't been the answer he'd been hoping for.

Adrian passed through Harry's limited vision at that moment, "There are two of them?"

Hermione giggled quietly, "No, that's Adrian. He and Draco just kind of look similar; The two of them quite hate each other, actually. They dueled this morning."

Harry filled Hermione in about miscellaneous unimportant aspects of life that'd happened recently: He was nearly done rebuilding his parents' old house, Bill and Fleur were expecting another child, Mr. Weasley got a promotion… it seemed like Hermione had been away for years, considering all the news she was receiving.

They talked for only ten minutes before Hermione had to go in order to properly take care of her horse.

Draco watched her retreating form away from the fire and saw her shiver from the sudden cold. He wanted to give her his cloak – but the very idea of his doing something like that for her startled him and he banished the thought completely.

.

.

Callidora Black had always been in control of her life. She had even had a say in her own arranged marriage, back when she was eighteen. Today, she remained one of the most respected witches in the world, meeting daily with important people in the wizarding community. Not to mention she was filthy rich.

But something was going on in her life right now that Dora was not in control of: Her granddaughter.

The headaches that girl caused!

But really, Dora kind of admired the way in which she had been deceived; The entire plan was completely spontaneous, otherwise she might have detected an idea or a plan beforehand. She had been skilled in occlumency – and while she was by no means an expert in the field, she knew enough to get her by.

A knock on the door of her study brought Dora back into reality. "Enter."

"Just me, madam," George the butler responded as he pushed the door open. "Would you be interested in taking your tea?"

"I would, thank you George."

George nodded his head and produced a full tea set, seemingly from nowhere, though it had probably just been in his pocket, shrunken down to size.

After serving the tea, George made a slight bow and made to leave.

"George," Dora said thoughtfully, "would you mind entertaining an old woman's silly notions for a moment?

"Of course, madam."

Dora sighed and gazed into her tea, pouring cream liberally into the cup and watching as the color gently swirled into tan. "I've just been thinking about Hermione quite a bit lately…"

"Ah," George replied, taking a few steps forward. "If I may state my opinion, madam – the young miss seems to be quite intelligent, gleaning from the short time this butler has known her. I'm positive she is able to take care of herself."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you're right," Dora answered, taking a sip of her tea. "But I do wonder, George – do you think it was ME that made her run off like that? I fear I may be one of the worst grandmothers that ever lived!"

"It is as my grandfather used to say, madam: We are, after all, only human. I personally think you made quite an amiable grandmother."

Dora forced a wan smile, "I do just worry that perhaps I forced a marriage upon her. Maybe she is one of those revolutionary-type girls that like to pick out their own spouse, do you think?"

"One can never see inside the minds of others," George responded diplomatically. "Perhaps we should have executed a search upon the backgrounds of the two young people first, madam?"

"How do you mean?" Dora's brown furrowed.

"Perhaps the two knew one another from their school days in a negative manner."

Dora sat back in her armchair, swirling her tea around with her forefinger. It was an interesting notion, to be sure – that the two had known one another beforehand. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. They had both gone to Hogwarts and were very close in age – for all she knew, they might have been in the same year!

What a disaster to have paired up her most beloved granddaughter with someone whom she might not even like!

"You raise a good point," Dora sighed. "Oh, what I wouldn't give for Jeannie to have never been in that AWFUL fire…"

"It is indeed a crying shame," George agreed, executing a slight bow.

"Thank you, George."

"Madam," he stated simply, bowing once more before taking his leave of the room.

Dora stood up and set her teacup down, her mind trailing over the details of the recent future: The devastating fire, her granddaughter being placed under her care, the unfortunate pairing, Hermione running away…

But yet, they had run away TOGETHER… that had to count for something.

In Dora's experience, unarranged marriages tended to end badly for everyone. Andromeda Black was one classic example… a disgrace to her family because she ran away with that Muggle, Tonks. Then they had little Nymphadora, who married a werewolf and then orphaned her only child in fighting against the Dark Lord.

No, arranged marriages always tended to be for the best, in her opinion. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were a perfect example – they had never met before their wedding day and they were generally good people, united in their interest for the well-being of their only son.

In fact, their marriage had survived even during that unfortunate time when Narcissa had caught on to Lucius's mistress. It was most certainly the end of the mistress – and with good reason – but it had brought the couple closer in their marriage in the end.

"What's wrong with that Malfoy lad, anyhow?" Dora pouted to herself. "He's of good breeding, he's skilled in all the areas a young man should be skilled, he's intelligent… not a bad looker… Oh! And think of how lovely the great-grandchildren would be!"

Dora stood in front of the vast window, vacantly tracing her wrinkled fingers over the cedar frame. The grains in the wood stood out magnificently, drawing attention to the simple beauty of the design.

That was what Hermione was: The grains in the woodwork - such a small part of the family tree, but without her, the grace and prestige would be missing. She would continue the pureblood line; She would remain true to her lineage. She OWED that to her family…

There was another knock on the door. "Enter," Dora barked, harsher than she'd meant.

The door swung open by itself and Lucius Malfoy stepped in, a smirk gracing his face. "We've found them."

.

.

Author's Note: Well I hope you're all happy that I left you with a cliffie I do love them so and I haven't really been up to par lately.

Bundles of thanks to brooklynsam3, TheGreatAmericanNightmare, Readerforlife, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, xxDrAcO'sBaby4EvErxx, GoodCharlotte615 and BelhavenOnTap for the lovely reviews!

Don't forget to leave criticism if you have any!


	17. Where Sorrow Meets Reality

Chapter Sixteen

The folds of silk were soft on Hermione's skin, smooth like water; Layer upon layer cascaded down to the floor, fringing at the edges. The very material was sensual, it seemed: Something a woman would wear to please the fingers of her lover.

"Oh! It's perfect!" Dora exclaimed.

Hermione gazed into the mirrors stationed around the platform for her own benefit – it certainly was a beautiful dress, yet she had never been more unhappy in her entire life.

The image reflected in every mirror was one of serene beauty, but she saw none of that. There was something severely wrong with the girl that met her eyes… her smile was too forced, or her finger twitched every so often. And was that a crack in her chest, a visible scar of the broken heart underneath?

"Do you like it, miss?" the store associate prompted. "It certainly looks beautiful on you: I don't think I've seen anyone pull off this style with as much grace as yourself."

"It DOES suit you, darling," Dora agreed.

The Hermione in the mirror nodded; Her lips parted to agree with the two women. Her eyes were hollow, unseeing – she did not even notice her measurements being taken, nor the hem being noted.

They had discovered her. But how? Draco had assured her they were safe: Safe in Scotland, beyond Antonine's Wall…

Hermione remembered every detail of the moment Lucius Malfoy had appeared in the camp.

He hadn't even been angry; It was as though he had accepted the fact that they'd run away a long time ago… and everything following that realization was just fun – it had been the hunt and now it was over. Predator wins.

The sun had just set, though the sky was still tinged with the memory of it; A bloody red piercing the horizon, throwing the orange of the day's remnants into relief.

Lucius had put a body-binding curse on his own son first, before turning on Hermione. The whole thing was so utterly unexpected; A bird had twittered, peaceful and out-of-place, just before they were whisked away. An eager Dora was breathlessly waiting for her granddaughter back home.

It seemed like their discovery had been mere hours ago – things were happing in seconds instead of minutes – but in reality, it had been two whole days.

But oh, what two days they had been!

Wedding preparations were taking place faster than Hermione could keep up with. Flowers were being ordered from Barbados, the satin and lace had to come from France… and the guests were from all over the world! Hermione was positive she didn't know HALF of the people her grandmother had invited.

She would have loved to say to Dora: "If YOU are so excited, why don't YOU marry Draco fucking Malfoy and LEAVE ME OUT OF IT!"

But that wasn't reality… in reality, Hermione merely said: "Yes, the ivory is nicer."

She didn't care, anymore. She had tried and she had failed and that was the end of it all. There was no time for herself either, ever since Jalena and George had been given shifts to watch her. It was kind of like babysitting, really.

"I don't suppose you have a preference as to whether the guests will have the option of choosing their dinner beforehand or not, Miss Granger?" one of the wedding planners prompted. Hermione had forgotten the girl's name days ago.

She shook her head no and rearranged herself so that she had a proper view of the grounds. The sun was shining in the big French windows and something glittering caught Hermione's eye, down by her hand.

She swallowed hard when she realized the thing was ON her hand.

The ring: The vile, disgusting symbol of a mockery of love. The diamonds glittered gaily as they always did, proud to be such a disgrace. The longer Hermione stared at the contemptible thing, the more she despised it; She felt like it was growing tighter – as if determined to prove the pressure she was under to marry her childhood enemy.

Really, the more she thought about the predicament, the more ridiculous it became. She sought out her grandmother.

"Hermione, darling, I have something for you," Dora enticed, steering her toward a box encrusted with, what appeared to be Swarovsky crystals.

The box contained a pearl necklace, wrapped around into three layers, each hanging longer than the previous. It was simple, but it commanded attention.

"It was your mother's when she got married… and mine when I married Harfang. Goblin-made too, so you know it's of exquisite quality."

Her mother's…

Hermione reached out a hand to touch the necklace: Her mother had once worn this necklace. It had touched her skin on the day she had said her beloved "I do's". What a beautiful day that must have been.

Such contrast to Hermione's own wedding.

"Will you wear it, my dear? It would be lovely with your dress," Dora continued, clearly unaware of what a big thing she was offering her granddaughter.

Hermione lifted the necklace out of the box; Dora helped her clasp it on before presenting her granddaughter with a hand mirror.

Yes, Hermione thought, Mum will be with me that day, after all. I can do this, now. She will be there, and I am her daughter.

.

.

Draco Malfoy was not angry. To say he was angry would have been the biggest understatement of the century. Draco Malfoy was not irate either, for this too, would have been a massive understatement.

No. Draco Malfoy was PISSED, fueled by the demons of Hell itself.

"I'm telling you, it wasn't me," Blaise persisted.

"Like fuck it wasn't," Draco snarled, pinning his companion against a tree.

"Listen Malfoy, I don't know who sold you out, but you can bet it wasn't me," Blaise hissed, still on the offensive even though he had a wand at his neck. "I never even knew where you were in the first place… all you said was 'north'."

Draco pondered this for a moment; Blaise Zabini was a tricky character, but he also tended to be very loyal. On the other hand, he had a slick tongue – had he been a goose, he could have talked foxes out of devouring him.

Draco lowered his wand, still fuming but in a much less directed way. Blaise massaged his neck before taking a good look around.

"So this is where she lives, huh?" he snorted, "Who would've thought: Granger a pureblood…"

Draco remained silent, his fist clenching and unclenching.

Blaise peered at him, "You still want me to be your best man, right?"

Draco slowly nodded, but remained silent.

Blaise frowned, "When was the appointment?"

His companion only grunted.

Blaise's frown deepened, "Well, whenever the hell it was, we're probably late. Shouldn't we go inside?"

"I don't want to see HER."

"Who? Your mother?"

"No… HER."

"Granger? Why?"

Draco clenched his teeth in a grimace, "I can't stand to LOOK at her."

Blaise snorted, "Well you'd better get used to it, considering you're marrying her in less than a week."

Silence.

"Have you noticed my father lately?" Draco asked abruptly.

"No, why? What's wrong with him?"

"He's… HAPPY."

Blaise considered this carefully, as it was common knowledge that Lucius Malfoy had never been happy in his entire life – or so it seemed, anyway. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Do?" Draco rounded on his companion. "What do you mean, Zabini?" he demanded.

"Well, you're going to find out what's getting him in such a good mood, right? I mean, the way your life tends to work, if Lucius is pleased and you're already miserable, you're about to go through some hefty shit. Remember last time?"

Draco shuddered inadvertently, his gaze flickering to his forearm. Though it was barely visible anymore, the Dark Mark stung for a split second, as if to remind him that it was always going to be there, as a symbol of the terrible things he had done in his life.

"I wouldn't know where to start," Draco sighed, thinking again about his father. The less he thought about the Dark Mark, the less he would feel like vermin.

"Don't you think it's an odd match: You and Granger?" Blaise pondered. "Who suggested it in the first place?"

"I don't fucking know, Zabini!"

"Alright, alright – I'll drop it. Are you ready to go inside? Your Mum is going to have a heart attack, considering how late we probably are…"

The boys reluctantly headed inside, both silent; To an outsider, it would seem they were preparing for a funeral rather than a wedding.

Even though Draco had entreated Blaise to stop talking about the odd coupling choice his father had made, the topic certainly had not left his mind. He knew his father had made the suggestion: But why? What was so special about Hermione Granger? She was a goody-two-shoes Gryffindor smarty-pants, and he… well, he was your average educated, pureblood, Slytherin male, former Death Eater. What was the attraction to pairing them?

Draco could understand Dora's point of view; The woman had never known about his Death Eater days and probably never would, if Lucius had his way. Dora would consider the match an advantageous marriage – of course she would agree!

He kept coming back to the same question that had been railing his mind long before Blaise suggested it: Why on Earth would Lucius DO this? It wasn't as if he was trying to make amends for the family name by marrying off his only son to a Gryffindor goody-goody.

There had to be some ulterior motive – and with his father, that could only be a bad thing. There was more to this than trying to continue the Malfoy family line...

Blaise was right: If he was going to remain sane, he was going to have to find out what was really going on - and fast.

.

.

Author's Note: Yay for reviewers: AerintheWhiteKnight, Readerforlife, GoodCharlotte615, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, TheGreatAmericanNightmare, rosi4ka1706, Hermione0323, brooklynsam3, and sureynot. Thanks a ton for your time in letting me know your thoughts!

You know... this chapter is a turning point, and I'll tell you why. I have a blank Microsoft Word Document and no ideas. But after everything I've just written, I have reached a fork in the road: I can either make this a story with a happy ending, or a severely tragic one. What do you think? Or should I write both and have alternate endings?


	18. A Note

Chapter Seventeen

"What is he doing?" Ron demanded, disapproving.

"I'm not sure," Hermione replied blandly, "He goes off on his own very often, so I'm sure it's just…"

"I'm going to follow him."

"But that's RUDE, Ron!" Ginny piped up, her eyebrows furrowing in agitation. "Just leave him alone."

"I don't care, I want to know what he's up to," retorted Ron.

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment and decided it was safer to side with his girlfriend on this particular issue, "Ginny's right, Ron. We should just leave Malfoy alone. Trust me, we'll be seeing plenty of him soon, anyway."

"What's THAT supposed to mean?" Ron wanted to know.

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Duh, we're going to be visiting Hermione a lot, stupid. And to get to Hermione, we have to go to Malfoy's house… right?" This last thought was directed at her friend.

"Are you getting your own house, 'Mione?"

"I'm… not sure. There wasn't any mention of it – I never thought about it before…"

"I still want to know what Malfoy does when he slinks off like that," Ron protested, rising from his cushy seat.

Ginny rolled her eyes, "We're supposed to be getting our robes fitted for the ceremony!"

"Ginny, you're the only one of us IN the damn thing. To be honest, I don't even want to go."

"Ron!"

"That's okay, Ginny," Hermione interrupted glumly, "I don't really want to go either…"

There was a bald silence that ricocheted through the room; The three guests were instantly uneasy, reminded of the forced marriage and the failed attempt to resist it. Ginny looked down at her feet, as though ashamed of herself.

Finally, "There he is, the slimy git," Ron spat, pressing his face up against the glass of the big, French windows.

"Those windows open onto a balcony, you know…" Hermione suggested, taking note of the smudged glass in spite of herself.

Ron took a step back and inspected the windows; Harry opened them for him.

"Let's see what ferret boy does when he goes off…"

"Probably nothing! And aren't you going to feel stupid when you find out that's exactly what it is – nothing!" Ginny growled.

Ron shrugged his sister off; Harry began to play absentmindedly with Ginny's hair. It was such a loving gesture that Hermione had to look away, afraid of the emotions she would feel if she dwelled too deeply on the tenderness of such a simple act. She got up to join Ron on the balcony.

Draco was in the pasture farthest from the stables, just as Hermione had expected. She was beginning to learn his habits despite herself. She stood, statuesque in her stillness, as she watched Draco hop the fence to be with the horse he'd attached himself to, Turkin. The young man's platinum hair seemed to reflect the sun, his white pallor becoming more obvious. He was stroking the gelding's mane with one hand and whispering something in the horse's ear.

Hermione found herself enchanted; The sun was setting and the scene was one of utter peace. Without knowing why it happened, Hermione discovered her face had turned an embarrassing shade of crimson. She looked away.

"Hermione?"

She turned to look at Ron, who had spoken. "Yes?"

Ron sighed, "Do you think… this would all have happened if we'd stayed together?" His brown eyes were concentrated.

Hermione had wondered that very thought herself, but repeatedly dismissed it by reminding herself that there had been good reasons why she and Ron had broken up in the first place.

"I have wondered it, yes," she admitted, "but there's no use dwelling on it. We can't go back in time…"

But that wasn't right.

No.

They COULD go back in time. It was magic, after all. She had forgotten completely about the time-turner!

"What is it?" Ron asked quickly, taking good note of her expression.

"The time-turner," Hermione muttered to herself, "I've been so stupid! I could go back in time and…"

She sunk to the ground, legs splayed awkwardly around her.

"What? What is it?" Ron exclaimed excitedly.

"The Ministry of Magic would never condone it. That would be illegal…" she concluded blankly.

"We'll steal one!"

"They'll find out."

"We'll oblivate their memories!"

"It gets automatically put on records as soon as it occurs."

"We'll destroy the records!"

"They'll still know."

"We'll remove all traces of us ever…!"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted, agitated, "there is NO USE. The Ministry WILL find out. Time turners are some of the most regulated things in the wizarding world, especially now that there are so few left in England. If you'll remember, we destroyed the majority of them in our fifth year. Do you think those kinds of things are made in a day or even a week? They take MONTHS to make."

Ron opened and closed his mouth several times, his face slowly becoming the same color as his hair.

"Besides, how would that look if her own granddaughter ruined Callidora Black's reputation?"

Ron flared up at this, "Well it seems to me, Hermione, that she kind of owes you. I mean, she's ruining your life, maybe you should ruin the rest of hers."

This statement was like a revolution to Hermione, though she didn't consider it seriously: Even though Dora had made her life miserable, she meant well. Hermione's gaze flickered back to Draco out in the pasture; He was now running alongside the horse, who was slowing his pace to a trot in order for his human companion to be able to keep up. Hermione had never seen Draco run before – he was really quite graceful, the way the wind whipped his hair around and tinged his cheeks pink from exertion. His body was motion in a still painting, Hermione thought vaguely, though she couldn't quite figure out what that really meant.

There were two sides to Draco, Hermione finally concluded, a sort of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but less frightening. One side was the one Draco most often displayed – the snobbish and easily irritated Malfoy. That was how everyone knew him, even his closest friends.

But then… then there was the other side, the other person. This other half was the one he kept hidden from everyone: In fact, the only way to see it was when he thought no one was watching. This other half cared for animals, especially the horses. The other half had deep thoughts and watched the sun rise. The other half was an art critic and a proper gentleman. But most importantly, the other half was not Draco Abraxas Malfoy – it was just... Draco.

Ron, clearly angry, stormed off the balcony. A few seconds later, Ginny appeared and looked down at Hermione slumped on the floor.

"What's the matter?" she asked blatantly.

"Ron," Hermione grumbled, barely audible.

Ginny rolled her eyes, "I should have known."

A breeze swept by, ruffling up Ginny's hair. There was a pop and George the butler apparated onto the balcony beside Hermione; Ginny uttered a soft cry of surprise.

"Message for you, miss," George announced, chuckling. He pulled an impossibly tiny piece of parchment from his pocket and, bowed to Hermione, then to Ginny (who was blushing furiously). "Do cheer up, miss," he encouraged smilingly.

Hermione forced a smile onto her face; She was quite good at feigning emotions by now.

George cleared his throat, "I just thought you should know, miss, that the cat ate a whole ball of yarn just the other day."

Ginny stared at George obviously; Hermione blinked, "I wasn't aware we had a cat, George…"

He nodded seriously, "Oh, yes – the doctor says we're having mittens."

Ginny, always true to herself, burst into laughter. George openly grinned, as this was the reaction he had secretly always wanted from someone. He disapparated feeling accomplished.

Once he was gone and Ginny had calmed down, the girls turned their attention to the piece of parchment. "How are you supposed to read it?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione pondered. Who would send her messages that weren't by owl, anyway?

"Is it folded somehow?"

"No, it doesn't appear to be… Engorgio!"

The parchment swelled up to its normal size and the words were instantly legible.

"Clever," Ginny commented. "What does it say?"

Hermione's eyes scanned the page quickly, once over and then twice. "All it says is: 'Meet me in the upstairs parlor in the West Wing at ten o'clock tonight.'" The handwriting was unfamiliar. "But who could it be from?"

"Maybe it's from Mal… I mean, Draco."

Hermione's eyes scanned the short note once more, as though willing it to speak to her. "You're probably right."

"Are you going to go?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Maybe he's discovered another way out!" Ginny suggested brightly, her eyes sparkling.

Hermione refused to convince herself of this, because she knew that as soon as she did so, everything would fall apart all over again.

.

.

Draco was ten minutes late to the West Wing parlor that night, though it hadn't mattered: By the time he arrived, Hermione still wasn't there yet.

He snorted: She'd probably gotten lost. Imagine – getting lost in your own house! If she could get lost in Callidora's comparatively small mansion, he could only imagine the tumultuous floor plan she would develop in her mind once she finally set foot into his own home.

Draco's mind involuntarily began to wander. He imagined Hermione, dressed in some of the clothes similar to those his mother wore – something tasteful, but still a bit too dressy for everyday use. Hermione would walk slowly around the mansion, her head upright as Callidora had taught her, but her eyes filled with immeasurable sadness. It was a beautiful image, but a depressing one.

Draco's life had become depressing in general during the course of the past couple years, though his childhood had been mostly filled with contentedness and general prosperity. He had never been a happy child, but he had certainly been smug. This childishness lasted him for a very long time, until he realized that all he really was, was just another wizard, despite having significantly more money than most.

Hermione finally entered the parlor, fifteen minutes later than the time he'd specified in his note. He gazed balefully at the young woman before him, realizing her rosy cheeks and frazzled hair.

"Sorry," she apologized, flustered, "I got lost…"

He had been right; He fought the urge to smirk.

Instead, he waved away the apology, "You are what my mother would call, fashionably late."

Her blush deepened. He noticed she was still refusing to make eye contact with him and inwardly he frowned: It would seem that Hermione had her own secrets…

"So, what did you want?" she queried bluntly, "You were so mysterious in your note…"

Her hair curled slightly under her ears, Draco noticed with the tiniest of pleasures.

The seriousness of his issue brought him back to the dilemma at hand. He reached into the pocket of his robes and brought out a piece of parchment.

"I stole this from my father's private study – I think you should read it."

Hermione peered anxiously at the document as she took it from Draco's hands. For an instant, their fingers touched and prompted a quick shock of electricity. Both hands recoiled.

The document was written in flourishes that severely reminded Hermione of the calligraphic script people of the seventeenth century used to adopt. It was a romantic handwriting in that sense, though the ideal ceased to exist in Hermione's mind as soon as she discovered the beautiful handwriting belonged to her future father-in-law.

A kind of fear gripped her heart: Draco was sharing something very important with her - otherwise, why would he have insisted they meet in private? And as far as she and Draco were concerned, important news usually tended to be BAD news.

She looked up and her eyes met his for the first time since their truce.

.

.

Author's Note: Thanks bundles to Readerforlife, GoodCharlotte615, aquaimp, sureynot, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, brooklynsam3 and Michelle Amethyst for the reviews! Also thanks to WinnieThaPoo92 for the message!

Oh, and let's throw a party for GoodCharlotte615, who was my 100th review! Yay!!

So it seems like most of you wanted a happy ending, which is always fun. However, there were a few of you who elected for a possible alternate ending. So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to finish this one up happily ever after and then once I'm done, I'll consider writing an alternate.

P.S. If anyone is interested in seeing Hermione's wedding dress that I described briefly in the previous chapter, here is a link: img./photo/11276825/Designer100PureNaturalSilkWeddingCorsetGown.jpg (You need to type in the http : / / before it, because for some reason it isn't showing up here).


	19. Pink and Red

Chapter Eighteen

Please be aware, Mr. Malfoy, that we have received and are processing your request for Grenadian Thestral Hoof Enamel. As you are well aware, the item you ordered is extremely rare and difficult to find. Please be aware that it may be some weeks before you receive your delivery.

We would also like you to note, Mr. Malfoy, that because of the magical substance of your request, the Ministry of Magic will be sure to intervene at the slightest notion of any misuse of this product. Please use caution with your endeavor.

Best regards,

Damocles Pickett

Secretary of Magic Safety Department

.

The parchment was brittle, but it looked fresh; Hermione thought it looked like it had been read over quite a few times. In the bottom right-hand corner of the page, Lucius Malfoy's calligraphic script had written a name: Carissa Baxter.

Hermione looked up from the parchment, not quite sure what to make of it. Here she had thought Draco was going to show her some conversation regarding a conspiracy and instead she had been handed a shipping note regarding an extremely obscure potion-making ingredient.

"Well what would your dad need Grenadian Thestral Hoof Enamel for? I've never even heard of it."

Draco frowned, "I looked it up in the library."

Hermione managed a smile, wondering for an instant how she could have hated Draco so deeply before. When he wasn't sure of things, he went to the library! He couldn't be THAT bad…

He continued, "It's a powerful potion ingredient, actually. Mostly it's used for spirit resurrection."

Hermione's shadow of a smile vanished. "Like ghosts?"

He nodded solemnly, "Exactly."

"But who would he want…" Hermione began, but stopped mid-sentence because her blood seemed to have frozen in fear.

"Can you think of no one? The only time my father had all the power he ever wanted was when the Dark Lord was in power. Power and money are the two things my father loves best."

"So… you think… that your father… wants to resurrect Voldemort?"

Draco cringed at the name and massaged his forearm tenderly. "Something like that. Maybe he thinks that if he can bring back an insubstantial form of the Dark Lord that has no physical power itself, that spirit will let HIM run things. He never much liked being the subordinate."

Hermione was silent for a long while before she picked up the piece of parchment again to examine it. It was only three days old, according to the date on top. "Who is Carissa Baxter, do you think?"

"I've been trying to find out. She hasn't written any books, she's not a member of the Ministry… I have nothing on her."

"Maybe that's just it. Maybe she's not as important as those things. She could be a tool for this whole plot," Hermione suggested.

Draco stared at her, feeling stupid for not already having thought of that possibility. Hermione's eyes flickered to his face once, twice, three times before she lowered her gaze. No matter how hard she attempted to restore her self-assurance, she just couldn't look Draco in the face.

"Why do you always lower your gaze when you…" Draco blurted out. (Only he didn't really "blurt"… it was way more nonchalant than that). He stopped, "Never mind. I don't really want to know, anyway."

The silence in the room was humiliating; Hermione's face grew red and she struggled to think of something to say.

Finally, "I'll work on finding Carissa Baxter."

"Fine," he agreed.

"Goodnight," she squeaked, making a beeline for the door.

He didn't reply. She didn't look back as she closed the door behind her, either.

What was she feeling about him? She knew she didn't hate him, by any means. She almost cared for him in the way one cares about an acquaintance: But what about the vice versa? For some reason, Hermione just couldn't picture Draco caring about her even in the slightest way.

What if Harry had been right? Was Draco planning some ulterior motive? If so, perhaps the whole point of showing her the parchment was to lead her off his true point. But why would he bother? From what Harry had told her, Draco had been the one to call the hospital on the day when…

No.

There had been so many times he could have harmed her over the summer so far, she didn't even think she could count them all on her fingers. It would have been too easy to kill her when they had been on the run. No one in the troupe knew their true identity, and there were plenty of times where it would have been easy to hide a body and pretend she'd gotten lost or wandered off.

Something was staying his hand, or else there was no motive. That was for certain. Without knowing why, Hermione found the thought slightly alluring in a decidedly dangerous way. She chided herself for her thoughts as she turned the handle to head back into her bedroom.

Ginny had decided to stay the night, instead of opting to return with the boys in the morning. The redhead had solemnly sworn to stay awake to hear about Hermione's meeting with Draco, but as it turned out, she had fallen asleep; Her mouth was slightly open and she was snoring softly, a wisp of hair fluttering gently in front of her nose.

Hermione smiled and tucked herself into bed, willing sleep to come quickly. Her attempts were futile and she remained awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, for hours.

.

.

"I'm guessing you didn't pick these out, huh?" Ginny remarked, amused. The redhead twirled in front of the mirror, enjoying herself more than she knew she should.

Hermione shook her head no; She'd had nothing to do with the planning of the bridesmaid's dress. The vibrant pink clashed terribly with Ginny's hair.

"This whole thing is an awful mess," Hermione bemoaned, burying her face in her hands.

Ginny was immediately somber, "Why can't we try to run again? The ceremony is tomorrow, it wouldn't be that hard to lay low for a few…"

"Tea, miss?" George prompted, appearing magically in the corner.

"No thank you, George."

"At your service," he bowed, disapparating once more.

"That's why," Hermione answered. "They've got the whole building spying on me, I think."

"Why the heck are they so persistent, anyway?" Ginny flared. "I mean, they could have at least allowed you the decency of a CHOICE in the matter!"

A knock on the door interrupted Ginny's rant. "Come in," Hermione called, wondering who had the decency to knock anymore.

Both girls looked at the door expectantly; Draco emerged into the room, appearing quite out of place in the Victorian-style room with its fluttering white curtains.

Draco caught sight of Ginny; The two had not come face to face yet, since the attempted escape. "Pink's not really your color, is it?" he sneered.

Ginny turned a bright red and retorted, "Polite's not really YOUR color, is it, Malfoy?"

Hermione couldn't help it; She giggled. Draco shot her a look. "I need to talk to you."

"Be back in a second, Ginny," Hermione promised, rising from the embroidered seat cushion. The redhead nodded, pulling out her wand and experimenting with the color of the dress in front of the wall mirror.

As soon as the two were safely in the hallway, Draco glanced around furtively. Finally deciding they were unheard for the moment, he whispered, "My father's meeting with a guest right now in the parlor downstairs in the East Wing. It's a woman."

"Carissa Baxter?"

"I think so."

"Well let's go check it out! I'll go ask Ginny if she has any extendable ears!" Hermione made a motion to go, but Draco stopped her with a hand on her shoulder; It was a touch so burning hot, she had to shrug it off.

"They've put spells on the room. We'll just have to see if we can figure out where she lives and follow her."

"But that's illegal!" Hermione protested.

Draco cocked one eyebrow as he regarded her with incredulity, "You're worrying about the legality of finding out why they're forcing us to get married?"

She blushed. "Well… no, I guess, when you put it that way…" she stammered.

"Let's go."

"Wait! Let me just tell Ginny…"

"That's alright, I was listening at the door anyway," Ginny piped up, nudging the door open. "I was curious."

Draco muttered something unintelligible, though it sounded like a curse. Hermione ignored him, "That's okay. I'll be back soon…"

"That's okay. I can cause a diversion – make a big deal about the garlands or something. Who IS this Baxter woman, anyway?"

"That's what we're trying to find out."

Ginny's brow furrowed, "You know, it's weird. The name sounds kind of familiar. I think I remember that name from somewhere… now, if only… oh!" The redhead's frown was so deep, her eyebrows nearly met in the middle.

"What is it?"

"Professor Trelawny mentioned Carissa Baxter once," Ginny remembered, "that's what I remember it from, I'm pretty sure."

Draco looked alarmed, "We'd better hurry. C'mon, let's go."

.

.

Author's Note: I didn't really like this chapter when I read it over, but it was time for an update. Guess I can always write a better one net and redeem myself then, hmm?

Thanks a ton: brooklynsam3, Readerforlife, sureynot, and RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder for the reviews!!

RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder - Glad to be of service! haha


	20. Pawleyne Close

Chapter Nineteen

By the time Hermione and Draco reached the appropriate parlor, the guest had left. Lucius remained in the room by himself, the trademark Malfoy smirk gracing his features. As soon as he heard footsteps approaching the room, he tucked a bit of parchment discreetly into his robes.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

"What is it, my son?" he sneered, privately thanking Draco for having been born under a meteor shower. This fact was turning out to be far more useful than Lucius could have ever imagined…

Knowing it would be pointless not to reply, Draco stepped into the room, subtly holding out his arm to stop Hermione from entering as well; There was no point in making his father suspicious.

"I heard we had a guest," he stated bluntly. "It became apparent to me that we should have invited her to dinner."

To a Muggle, this statement would have been an obvious cover-up story from an eavesdropper. However, to a pureblood, entertaining another pureblood guest in the parlor and not inviting them to dinner… well, that was practically a crime.

Lucius frowned – Draco had never really paid much attention to etiquette before, unless it was required of him. Was the boy finally growing up? Or was he onto the fact that something out of his power was going on?

Either way, Lucius reasoned, it didn't matter. The wedding would take place tomorrow, just as planned. And after that, well it might take some coercing, but… well, that was a barrier to overcome when the time came, anyway… there was no use in worrying about it now.

"My guest was in a bit of a rush, Draco. She unfortunately was forced to decline my invitation."

"I see," Draco responded, inclining his head just enough to be marginally respectful. "I will see you tonight, father."

.

.

"How did you get this address, Ginny?"

The redhead smirked, revealing a grin full of tiny, pearly teeth. "Harry's got connections everywhere, Hermione. Whatever Harry Potter wants, Harry Potter gets, trust me."

Draco snorted; Hermione frowned.

"You didn't involve Harry in this?"

Ginny shook her head, "Of course not. I just sent a letter to the right people and signed Harry's name at the end. I've gotten quite good at signing his name, you know: It's so messy, no one knows the difference. All things considered, the reply was quite prompt."

"I'll say," Hermione agreed. "Pawleyne Close…"

"That shouldn't be too difficult to find if we Floo there," Draco spoke up. "I'm assuming you're talking about London."

"Bromley to be even more exact," Ginny answered, brimming with confidence and self-worth. "SE20."

"Right," Draco said, momentarily forgetting his disdain for the Weasleys in his anticipation. "Let's go."

"Now?" Hermione demanded.

"Of course," Draco snapped, "what do you want to do, wait around until after tea?"

Hermione lowered her eyes and said nothing.

Draco fidgeted awkwardly; He was sure he was never going to overcome the feelings he'd harbored toward her for the past seven years. It occurred to him, however, that he should at least pretend to tolerate her – the gentlemanly side of Draco even considered that it was rude to snap in such a way at a lady. He was going to have to work on his attitude, if it was even possible to reform after eighteen years.

"Let's go," Ginny announced, frowning at Draco.

"Who said YOU were coming?"

Ginny stood up straight, squaring her chin and boring her brown eyes right into Draco's gray ones: "I am coming along because I was the one who got the address AND because I refuse to let you verbally abuse Hermione. That is why."

Her tone was so final, Draco realized the only way he could possibly get to her to stay behind was by using the Body-Bind Curse on her. That, however, wasn't much of an option, considering he'd never hear the end of it from Hermione, and as soon as Harry found out, he would probably be after his right nut with a butcher's knife.

"Fine. Let's just get the fuck on with it."

.

.

The apartment was much more difficult to find than they'd anticipated. Once successfully Floo'ing to London, it took them a good half an hour to find Pawleyne Close. Once there, it appeared the home had been magically hidden.

After a chorus of swears, hexes and curses, Draco gave up. "Fuck it," he said deliberately. Hermione flinched at his language, but didn't bother to reprimand him.

"What's the house number?" she inquired meekly, instead.

"There wasn't one," Ginny answered sheepishly, "or, I wasn't given one, anyway."

"Fucking useless," Draco muttered. The girls ignored him.

"There has to be a way to get in," Ginny said obstinately. "Otherwise, what would be the point of giving me the address?"

"Maybe they thought you were just going to write her, Gin. An owl would know where to take a letter," Hermione reasoned.

Ginny nodded glumly. "I guess you're right, that must be it…"

Hermione froze, "But if an owl would know where to deliver a letter…. Ginny! We just have to borrow someone's owl and follow it! There are bound to be a bunch of wizarding families in London!"

Ginny's eyes brightened, "You're right: There's a wizarding post office about twenty minutes from here! See, Hermione, we needed your cleverness!"

The three young people hurried to the post office as nonchalantly as was possible. Draco was still unconvinced the plan was going to work, but Hermione and Ginny were more optimistic. They entered the dingy building, checking for Muggles to make sure none saw them enter the apparently empty complex.

"Two knuts for local, please," Ginny requested of the wizard behind the desk.

"Of course. The addressee?" the man prompted.

"Carissa Baxter."

The man's hand paused over the piece of parchment. He looked Ginny straight in the eyes, "What on earth could a young woman such as yourself want from a hag like Baxter?"

Taken aback, Ginny mumbled only unintelligible words. Draco's jaw tightened.

The man shook himself, "I'm sorry. It's none of my business. I just… you look so innocent…"

"Can you tell us what this Carissa Baxter does, sir?" Hermione queried, leaning across the desk.

The wizard blushed, "Well, she's a fortune-teller, at the very least. See, what sets her apart is that she can tailor prophecies to her every whim. But what she mostly specializes in is… well, necromancy." He whispered the last word as thought it were a swear word.

Ginny took an instinctive step back; Draco wrinkled his nose. Although Hermione had been raised in the Muggle fashion, she understood why both purebloods had the reaction they did. Necromancy was the taboo of wizardry. You just didn't do it, and you rarely talked about it. How people even learned the art was a mystery, considering no one had ever permitted a book to be written on the subject.

"We're not trying to get involved with her," Hermione told the wizard, lowering her voice. "We just need to ask her a couple questions… Can you tell us where she lives?"

The man shook his head, "Pawleyne Close, that's all I know. She likes her privacy and everyone is quite happy to let her have it… two knuts, please."

Hermione fished through her pockets, but found only a couple sickles. Ginny had no money whatsoever. Draco, on the other hand, carried only galleons.

"Typical," Ginny muttered, shooting Draco a dirty look when he pulled the gold from his pockets.

Hermione slapped a sickle on the counter.

"89C," the man responded dully, handing Hermione her change. "Next." It was clear he wanted nothing to do with anyone who might have a connection to the necromancer.

They located the owl they'd been assigned, barely much larger than Pigwideon. Ginny carried him in her scarf (something the owl did not appreciate) all the way to Pawleyne Close. Once there, they attached a blank piece of parchment to the owl's leg.

"Show us Carissa Baxter, please," Hermione whispered softly to the harassed owl. The owl screeched, attempted to nip her finger, then flew off haphazardly down the lane.

.

.

Author's Note: Hey guys, I really must apologize firstly for the short chapter and secondly for not updating in two weeks. I'm really sorry. Things have been quite hectic at work lately, with the elections and all. (I work for a newspaper). I kind of think this chapter is a bit crappy and I'm really sorry. I will try my hardest to be prompt with my updating from now on.

CherryKat202 - I got your message. You check every day? If you sign up for an Author Alert, it will automatically tell you when someone updated.

Thanks a ton to Readerforlife, amorreal, GoodCharlotte615, whatifgirl, brooklynsam3, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, and sureynot for reviewing!!


	21. Meeting Carissa Baxter

Chapter Twenty

The house turned out to be quite simple to access, all things considered. A hidden door, visible only when it was looked for or needed, appeared crookedly on the side of one of the shabby, brick apartment buildings.

Draco strode toward the door with a purpose, Hermione and Ginny trailing behind with reservations about the situation. Before Draco had even laid a hand on the door, it swung open by itself. A grey tabby cat emerged and scrambled across the street, bowlegged. The door hung open.

"Should we go in?" Ginny suggested.

"It's rude."

"Since when did you care, Malfoy?"

Hermione rapped cautiously on the doorframe, ignoring the bickering purebloods behind her.

"Quickly! Do you want the Muggles to see?" a clear voice rang out from deep within the narrow building.

Hermione ushered inside, pulling an astounded Draco and Ginny in behind her. Once inside, the door closed, again by itself. Hermione knew that, outside, the door on the brick wall was concealing itself once more.

"I'm in the back room," the voice called again. Faintly, the sounds of a piano wafted haphazardly through the apartment.

"Should I take my wand out?" Ginny asked, her eyes shifting around nervously.

Hermione shook her head 'no', but Draco pushed ahead of her, wand extended, ignoring her completely. She frowned, but said nothing. If Draco wanted to rush into the back room prepared for an attack, well... at least he would be first if there WAS one to expect.

As the trio headed to the back room, Draco first, the sound of the piano became clearer and clearer.

"Put that wand away, Draco, before you enter," the voice recommended. Draco stopped in his tracks, as if frozen.

Hermione, too paused in her steps. It would seem this woman really did have the Sight, rare as it is – unless she had strategic mirrors hidden somewhere. All the same… she was still more impressive than that old bat Trelawny, even before Hermione had even set eyes on her.

Opening the door – Draco had not heeded the woman's words to put his wand down – revealed nearly the antithesis of what Hermione had been expecting.

The room contained what, in all respects, appeared more like it belonged in the palace of the sultan of Saudi Arabia than in an apartment in London. The rugs appeared to be Turkish-made, intricate and bright. The walls, too were painted a bright red, as if to match the carpeting. Censers of incense were emitting soft and enticing odors. Statues of elephants, monkeys and miniature likenesses of Hindu gods were placed randomly around the room, made apparently of gold.

The room was empty. A Muggle radio in the corner, the only thing really out-of-place, was emitting the enchanting piano sounds.

Ginny let out a low whistle.

"Stay on your guard," Draco advised under his breath. His wand was at the ready still.

"Put your wand away please, Draco," the voice murmured again. It seemed to be coming from the walls.

"You'll forgive me if I have issues with trust," Draco replied to the wall. Hermione noticed he was using his polite voice – the one he usually reserved for pureblooded dinner guests, "As you have given me no reason to trust you, after all."

"But Mr. Malfoy, I'm hurt. You don't remember me."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps if you would show yourself, it could jog my memory," he suggested.

"Determined and stubborn as always. That much hasn't changed about you, I see."

Draco set his jaw and lowered his wand a couple inches.

"Excuse me," Hermione spoke up for the first time, not sure in which direction to talk to, "But we're here to speak to Carissa Baxter. Are you she?"

"That is one of my names, yes. I have others. You must be the infamous fiancée."

Draco clenched his fist and demanded, "What's THAT supposed to mean?"

The voice chuckled, "All the talk that's been circulating regarding the next Mrs. Malfoy... it's got everyone in an absolute tizzy."

"That's why we came here," Hermione continued, eager to be at the bottom of the situation. "Can you tell us more? It's very important!"

"Put the wand away."

"Draco, for God's sake, put the wand down," Hermione requested.

"I don't trust her."

"Do you want to get to the bottom of this, or do you insist upon acting like a small child? Put it down!"

Draco set the wand down on the carved wooden table in the center of the room. Where on earth THAT side of Hermione had come from, Draco didn't know. Perhaps there was more fight left in Hermione than he'd originally thought…

"Lovely," the woman's voice said cheerfully. Three armchairs, each the inviting color of a deep glass of Merlot, appeared behind them. "Please have a seat. I'll fetch some tea."

The three sat in silence. Ginny was still taking in the room – something more like she'd seen on her family trip to Egypt rather than something she had expected in a London flat.

A woman appeared in the doorway, carrying a silver tray. She was easily the most beautiful older woman Hermione had ever seen. Her face showed hints of wrinkles in all the right places: Crow's feet around the eyes, worry lines etched into her forehead… all the signs of a life of many passions, both wonderful and terrible. Her long hair was silver – what a cloud might look like if it could be made into thread, contrasting her dark skin, typical of a woman from India. Her eyes were blue – not the ice blue one typically sees on blondes – but a deep, dark blue. Bluer than the sea.

"I have tea," the woman offered, setting down the tray, "and also some cocoa, though it IS a bit warm."

Hermione stared at the woman, who smiled gently at her before turning her attention to Draco.

"Are you able to recognize me now, Draco?"

Hermione and Ginny's heads both snapped around to look at Draco's face, which was a little rosy. He nodded blankly.

"Wonderful. I would have been terribly disappointed. Though I don't suppose your old piano instructor would have made a deep impression." Her eyes were sparkling as she turned to look at Hermione, "He was quite the determined learner, you know. Very precocious child – not something you see often in a six year old someone's plunked in front of a piano for the first time, you know."

As if on cue, the faint melody coming from the radio worked itself into a frenzy.

"He never even told me he played," Hermione admitted, struggling to keep up the polite conversation.

"A shame!" the woman scolded, giving Draco a disapproving eye, "He's quite good. You must get him to play for you very soon."

Draco mumbled something under his breath.

"You have a talent, Draco, you shouldn't hide it. It's much better than dueling, anyway – silly wizarding pastime."

"With all due respect, Ms. Baxter," Hermione interrupted, "we came here to get answers."

"Please call me Carissa. Much better than that stuffy old woman's name, don't you think? But I know, my dear. I don't often get visitors, you know – visitors always do get me quite excited. People always avoid this place like the plague. But forgive me – I knew you did not come here for my company."

Hermione's face burned red and she felt ashamed, though she also knew it was through no fault of her own that this woman was alone.

Draco leaned forward, his gray eyes fixed on Carissa. A piece of his platinum hair fell into his eyes. Hermione watched him, the businessman. He had grown up. "We need to know the circumstances this marriage was arranged on."

Perhaps there had been a strange kind of nut put into the scones they'd been served, because at that moment, Hermione could find no other reason why she should be experiencing such a strange sensation… something akin to heartburn. She ripped her eyes away from Draco and took another sip of her tea, forgetting it was still just a bit too hot to drink.

Strange.

Carissa inhaled deeply and sat back in her chair, the hot cup of tea seeming to be warming her whole body. "It's quite complicated."

There was a long silence. Finally, Draco quietly said, "It's very important we know."

Carissa's eyes flickered inexplicably to Hermione before resting on Ginny.

"I can leave if that's what you're implying," Ginny brashly announced.

"I am only allowed to speak of the prophecy to those involved in it," Carissa explained, her eyes sympathetic.

"I understand," Ginny replied, though her eyes betrayed a bruised ego. Draco's face hinted at the shadow of a smirk: He HAD tried to protest, after all.

The redhead stepped into the hallway with her cup of tea. As soon as the door had closed, Carissa muttered an anti-eavesdropping spell under her breath. Hermione felt bad for Ginny and awkward, left alone in a room with only Draco Malfoy and a strange Indian woman she didn't even know for companionship.

"I told your father I wouldn't speak a word," Carissa told Draco, her hauntingly blue eyes fixed on his gray ones. "But you're right – you should know."

The mouth that always seemed to smile, even when it wasn't, turned into a frown. Hermione swallowed another scalding sip of tea, realizing in the pit of her stomach that something was about to change… very drastically.

.

.

Author's Note: I must again apologize for the long wait in between the posts of this story. My excuse hasn't changed - this election season has been a huge mess! Whoever thought working for a newspaper could be so hectic? I think I'll have much more time once the elections are past, thankfully, and that's soon. I hope everyone's registered to vote!

Thanks to Readerforlife, GoodCharlotte615, Sunclouds and Snowdrops, brooklynsam3, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, MyLookOfDenial., and faerie-girl-101 for reviewing! Got some new readers in this bunch. That makes me happy. Yay!

GoodCharlotte615 - Cockatiels, huh? I had parakeets once. Never get those. I still hate birds.

MyLookOfDenial. - Most people do know, but I'm not surprised, as it's not really something desirable to talk about. Necromancy is the practice of magic regarding the dead, especially trying to raise the dead. Hope that cleared up any confusion.

faerie-girl-101 - Glad to see you're enjoying so far. I do love it when people like something I've created. Makes me all warm and fuzzy and all that jazz.


	22. Revelation and Reaction

Chapter Twenty-One

"A prophecy was made a few years back," Carissa Baxter murmured, taking a sip of her cooling tea and leaning back into her armchair comfortably. "I believe… oh, about nineteen years ago, maybe twenty. It spoke of a pureblood child born under a meteor shower." Carissa paused, then spoke directly to Draco, "That would be you."

Draco nodded – this was not new information to him. He already knew of the unique cosmic circumstances that had been in motion at his birth.

"This prophecy is a separate foretelling than the one with which you are concerned, however," Carissa continued. "The original prophecy, made by the late Seer Damian Jilk, merely stated that a new prophecy would be revealed once the child reached his or her eighteenth year."

"That would be this past June," Draco agreed, setting up a mental timeline in his head. Hermione realized with a jolt that she hadn't even known her fiancé's birthday.

Carissa continued, "And indeed, the very day after your birthday, I happened to be having tea with Lucius. I had thought it quite odd that he would have me there after being out-of-touch for such a length of time. But alas, an old woman will politely ignore small omissions for decent company. It was there I revealed the prophecy. How Lucius knew it would be ME who revealed it, I still do not know."

"The prophecy… what did it entail?" Draco probed.

Hermione bit her lip, every inch of her mind protesting the idea that divination should be shaping her life. If only she'd… what? Not walked out of Trelawny's class in third year? As if she would have learned anything anyway… but all the same, there was still the deep-rooted disdain for the subject she was finding hard to shake away, even now.

"A riddle!" Carissa exclaimed. "The whole thing was a riddle. Didn't even seem finished, that's why. I don't know about you, but I can't even finish the crossword…"

"So you're saying you don't know what the prophecy even entailed!" Hermione exclaimed disbelievingly.

"No, no, no," Carissa protested, shaking her head animatedly back and forth, "that's not what I'm saying at all. Here – I've written it down."

The woman reached into her back pocket with some difficulty and produced a fresh piece of parchment. Both Draco and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Noting their expressions, Carissa explained, "I had been expecting you." She placed the parchment on the wooden coffee table, facing them.

Hermione peered curiously at the parchment. It still smelled new, evoking that faint fusty smell parchment tended to have. The writing was spiky, written in red ink:

.

Prophetic response: D Jilk.

To Mr. L Malfoy, by Ms. S Patel.

Concerning one Mr. D Malfoy and one Miss H Granger.

D Jilk (18 February 1980): A pureblood child will be born during the meteor shower, 5 June 1980. A second prophecy will be foretold of that child upon the reaching of his or her eighteenth birthday.

Confirmed to be Mr. D Malfoy.

S Patel (6 June 1998): Concerning the young man spoken of in Seer Jilk's prophecy, eighteen years ago. He will be married before the outcome of the year to another pureblood witch. She will have been born to both purebloods, raised as a Muggle. Upon their marriage, there shall be six months of rain, followed by six months of snow.

The world will slowly begin to flood until the child has been conceived with the mark of destiny upon its face.

.

Draco pushed the parchment away, disgusted. Apparently the marriage wasn't even the worst part! Shitty weather… AND he was supposed to SLEEP with her! Just the idea was revolting.

"Are you alright, Hermione, dear?" Carissa anxiously murmured.

Draco's head turned to look loathingly at the creature beside him. She was deathly pale – but who cared, anyway? Stupid filthy girl – raised as a Muggle… like a, a…. an ANIMAL. The corner of Draco's lip upturned and he looked away. Hermione was staring blankly at the carpet.

"The S Patel refers to me," Carissa explained calmly, "it's my given name – Sonja Patel. Baxter is my Anglo-Saxon name. Are you sure you're alright, Hermione?"

Draco shot another blazing glare in Hermione's general direction. If only he hadn't ever gotten to know her! If only he hadn't agreed to that truce! If ONLY he hadn't found her THAT day! If only… he could hate her truly and fully!

He was trying extremely hard to hate her. He had once, a short while back – and he couldn't anymore. But he dearly wanted to.

"Yes, I'm fine. But… what's the point?"

"Point? I'm afraid I don't follow you, dear," Carissa admitted.

"The point," Hermione repeated, exasperated. Her face was milky pale, with all the blood rushed out, "there has to be more to it. By itself, that prophecy means nothing. There is no motivation there besides to stop a slow flood."

A sickening smile that didn't fit her personality played around Carissa's lips, "Ah, the motivation. Haven't you heard what they say about the child with the mark of destiny upon its face?"

"It's Potter all over again," Draco muttered darkly.

"Certainly not," Carissa rebuked, frowning at her former student, "Harry Potter brought about the fall of the Dark Lord both in infancy and again in manhood. This other child they speak about will bring the rise of the Dark Lord's soul."

"Just as you said," Hermione murmured. She was speaking to Draco, but she did not look at him.

Why was she speaking to him? She seemed so calm for someone who'd just been told she needed to bear the next Malfoy child to bring about a third rise of the Dark Lord. Draco would never understand her… He rubbed his forearm out of habit, as he always did when someone brought up the subject of Voldemort.

"You seem calm enough, Granger," Draco spat in accusation, his eyes sweeping briefly to the general area she was seated in. "Care to enlighten?"

"Your father was buying Grenadian Thestral Hoof Enamel," she explained, her voice calmer than her face looked, "which means that just the fulfilling of the prophecy isn't enough. There are other things that need to be done to raise Voldemort up. Besides, what makes you think I have any intention of having any remotely sexual relations with you?"

Her remark stung, but only for a moment. Draco relaxed; So… Hermione DID have some sense, after all. Well alright then.

"Good," was all he could think to say.

Carissa gazed at the two young people in front of her, an amused smirk playing on her face. If only they knew… but they were too young. They'd have to figure it out for themselves…

"I suggest," Hermione spoke up, a little more boldly now, "that we return home and do some research on whatever has been said about the 'child with the mark of destiny on its face'. Until we know what we're dealing with, we can't know how to fight it." She turned to Carissa, "Unless you have anything further you can tell us?"

Carissa shook her head, "I'm only as good as my art will allow me to be. However, I am interested in whatever you happen to find out. Dealing with the dead… happens to be my specialty."

The dim light in the room sputtered for a second, throwing ominous shadows across the splendid walls.

"Then we have heaps of work to do," Hermione answered in her best no-nonsense voice. She placed her now-cold cup of tea on the tray and stood up to leave.

Draco rolled his eyes, drained his cup of tea, and also stood up to go. "Can we Floo?" he inquired.

"Feel free," Carissa answered, the model of friendless and accommodation. "There's the fireplace in the hallway that's got the most standing room. The Floo Powder's in the bucket by the grate."

"Thank you, again for your hospitality and information," Hermione said, utilizing the manners Dora had drilled into her head.

"It was a pleasure, my dear," Carissa replied, smiling.

Once safely into the hallway, Draco and Hermione found Ginny sitting against the wall across from the fireplace Carissa had mentioned. The redhead was playing with a litter of very tiny kittens while their mother watched by cautiously, only a few feet away.

Ginny looked up upon noting the exit of her companions. Something in their faces must have hinted that neither was willing to talk about what they'd been told. She remained silent, offering only a small smile to Hermione, which was lightly returned.

Without even a word, the three each Floo'd back to the Black Manor, all three minds racing with untold possibilities...

.

.

Author's Note: The current year would be 1998 – something I got off some Harry Potter website. I didn't do a lot of research on it though, so if anyone would like to correct me, I'm sure I won't be offended.

I figured you guys needed another chapter soon, since I've been delinquent with my posts recently. Also, Lira broke her elbow on the jungle gym and I've been working from home this week to stay with her, so I've had a smidge of extra time for a change.

Thanks bucketloads to Michelle Amethyst, RaineyDays, whatifgirl, Conquistador Imp, MamaJMarie, MyLookOfDenial., GoodCharlotte615, and brooklynsam3 for reviewing!!

Conquistador Imp - I like constructive criticism. Thank you.

GoodCharlotte615 - Aww, that's sad! Poor parakeet. I still have no love for them, but I'm not totally heartless. We used to have them for a little while, but probably living in a house with four kids didn't do them any justice. We gave them to my sister, who loves birds and wanted them. I have never had the best of luck with birds, you see. A finch landed on my shoulder once. And an owl landed by me on a park bench another time. It's very random.


	23. The Night Before

Chapter Twenty-Two

"So… in other words…" Ginny trailed off. "You've got to get out of here."

"I've got a better idea," Hermione muttered, pulling her friend under the covers of the queen-sized bed, hoping they couldn't be overheard. "My grandmother's got to have a potion store, right?"

Ginny looked thoughtful for a moment, "Probably."

The girls were up late that night, despite that Dora had advised them both to get some sleep for the Big Day. Ginny had gagged at these words; Hermione had wrinkled her nose.

"Polyjuice potion," Hermione whispered as quietly as possible.

"For who? You?"

"No, for Draco. Do you think we can convince Ron or Harry to be Draco for the ceremony? Then I will have kept my promise to physically marry Draco, but the prophecy won't be in effect. And I won't actually be married to whichever of the boys decides to do it, either, since they weren't themselves."

Ginny stared at her friend, admiration in her warm brown eyes, "I love your ability to stay calm in these kinds of situations, Hermione."

Hermione's brow furrowed, "Don't be satisfied yet. Let's go to the library. I need to see if there are any complications in the prophecy that could prohibit it. There are loopholes for every aspect of things if you know where to look properly…"

"Good idea. I'll check to make sure the coast is clear."

It was, so the girls quietly made their way to the library, taking care to make as little noise as possible.

Once both girls were inside, Hermione closed the huge, maple doors gently, muffling its closure with her hands. Ginny muttered a silencing spell. The two worked fruitlessly for about three-quarters of an hour until Ginny suddenly squealed.

"Check this out!" she murmured excitedly, shoving a book under Hermione's nose.

Hermione took the book from her friend, not sure what to expect.

.

The worlde shall floode and snowe until the childe with the mark of destinie upon its face shall be borne, of parents of prophecie. Of the childe's purpose, it shall bring aboute the rising of the greate one. We knowe little else of such a childe but that the prophecie was made bye marm Carissa Baxter of Cheltenham.

.

Hermione frowned. "How old is this book?"

"I dunno, 1500s or something," Ginny replied. "The way they wrote, I'm just guessing."

Hermione flipped the pages to the front of the crumbling volume. On the inside of the cover, someone had written in fading ink that was so old, it smelled like dirt: 'For Elizabeth. 1698.'

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Ginny, did you read that whole passage?"

"No, why?"

Hermione closed her eyes and slumped against the bookshelf, handing the book back to her friend. Ginny's eyes scanned the page; Once she'd processed the name Carissa Baxter on the page, she paused.

"She's just like another Nicholas Flamel," muttered Hermione. Then, addressing her friend, "Ginny, Carissa Baxter has been alive since the 1600s, at least. She's in this book."

"What does it mean?" Ginny queried.

"I'm… not sure. We don't know enough yet. But we're running out of time. We need to take action. Whether there's a loophole in this prophecy or not, we'll just have to take our chances…"

As if to add credibility to her words, the clock on the desk to their left chimed 12 midnight.

"Do we go look for the polyjuice potion?"

"I think not."

The voice was so unexpected, both Hermione and Ginny jumped. Hermione scrambled to her feet. Both girls yanked out their wands and took a defensive stance.

A low chuckle seemed to echo around the vast library. From the shadows, Lucius Malfoy emerged, his black robes camouflaging him in the semi-darkness. A thousand things came to Hermione's mind, things she dearly wanted to say to her future father-in-law. She remained silent.

"I have been rolling these thoughts around in my mind," Lucius remarked, taking a few steps forward, "as to why you, Miss Granger, are so unwilling to marry my son. Surely he's not so bad."

He was being polite, Hermione realized. To make an outburst at this time would just fuel him. Well, two could play at that game…

Hermione lowered her wand a few inches. "Mr. Malfoy… what a pleasure to know you've been secretly stalking me these past few weeks." She forced a convincing smile.

Lucius inclined his head a little, the traditional Malfoy smirk breaking across his face like a wave. "I want only the best for my son and heir."

"That is perfectly understandable," she falsely agreed, "and what have you discovered?"

Lucius fixed his eyes on his son's fiancé, a manic glint in his eye. Hermione suddenly realized she was very afraid of him. Beside her, Ginny's wand hand twitched violently. Hermione stayed her ground.

"Several things," he murmured dangerously, closing in a little more of the gap between them. The two girls were backed against the bookshelf. "But what, may I ask, would a young woman such as yourself need polyjuice potion for?"

He was trying to intimidate her – but it wouldn't work. Hermione squared her shoulders and asked in reply, "May I ask what a man such as yourself could possibly need thestral hoof enamel for?"

Lucius immediately dropped his pleasant manner, becoming instantly hostile: "You're an insolent little wretch. You're lucky I need you, or else I would have you killed, do you understand that?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then promptly closed it again. She wanted dearly to retort, and her head was bursting with things to say; But being offensive when Lucius was this angry was not a smart idea at all.

"Father, now that's no way to treat family…"

The voice came from right beside Hermione, nearly making her jump out of her skin. Ginny covered up a soft scream of surprise, trying to pass it off unsuccessfully as a cough. Hermione hadn't even heard Draco enter the room, let alone make his way over. His voice sounded like velvet in the dark.

Lucius showed no sign of surprise to find his son there. "Draco, I'm surprised. I'd convinced myself your behavior was better than this."

"And I'd convinced myself you were more polite than to treat your future daughter-in-law like a common Muggle off the street," Draco retorted, never for an instant losing his cool.

Hermione felt a sudden rush of relief. She didn't feel so much like a cornered mouse in front of a cat anymore, now that Draco was there. It was an odd feeling, and not one she was accustomed to associating with Draco.

Lucius's eyes narrowed, "To bed, all of you. This wedding will happen, I can promise you. Draco, escort Miss Granger and the Weasley girl back to their room. Afterwards, I want to see you."

With one last look at the trio, Lucius quit the room; The feeling of tension remained.

"Hrmph… 'Weasley girl'…" Ginny muttered, tucking her wand away indignantly.

"Thank you," Hermione muttered.

"Sure," Draco mumbled in reply.

The room was silent for a minute. "Are you going to tell him about the book?" Ginny finally asked.

"Oh, right." Hermione bent down to pick up the old volume from where she'd dropped it in surprise. Flipping through the old tome, Hermione finally found the page Ginny had pointed out. She handed the book to Draco, whose eyes quickly scanned the page.

Without changing his expression, Draco closed the book. "That goes right along with what I've discovered. I did some of my own research on Baxter. She's apparently the only known person in the world who can create prophecies at will, to a certain extent. She can't determine the specifics of the prophecy, but she can create an outcome… in the past, she's taken money bribes to create prophecies. Some of her other powers include turning the dead into ghosts and creating new life. I was actually on my way here to do some final research."

"Draco," Hermione said deliberately, "if we could just get some polyjuice potion… one of us could…"

"No," Draco interrupted, "we couldn't. My father made sure all the potions we might find of use in this house have been destroyed. I've already checked the stocks – there's nothing."

There was more silence, which was broken by Ginny, "Well, now what?"

"Now, we go to bed," Draco answered. His voice had a resigned note of impending doom in it, "We have a big day tomorrow."

"You're giving up?" Ginny demanded, indignant.

"Yes, Weasley. I'm giving up!" Draco flared. "We've tried nearly everything at this point, and nothing has worked. We're dealing with supernatural forces and the inevitable power of money and cunning. The ceremony is in less than 24 hours and we - have - nothing."

The finality and powerlessness of his words made Ginny turn her face away: She had never seen Draco Malfoy, a bully and a snot, act this way – so beaten and down. It was disconcerting.

"No," Hermione muttered, "I don't want to give up."

Draco rolled his eyes, "It's over, Granger. We're getting married tomorrow, whether we like it or not."

Hermione glared at him. In the light of the oil lamps, Draco thought her eyes looked red, as if overcome by some sort of bloodlust, made all the deadlier by the perfection of the rest of her face. Such smooth cheeks, slightly rosy with the passion of her unexpected encounter… her lips, like marks on a piece of sheet music, but temptingly pink…

What was he thinking…?

"I'll take you to your room," Draco muttered, tearing his eyes away.

Neither Hermione nor Ginny answered him. He opened the library door and stood aside for them to file out before escorting them back to their shared bedroom.

It was only her bedroom for one more night, Draco realized upon reaching the door. A lump rose in his throat, as though his Adam's apple was attempting to grasp freedom.

"Good night." Hermione's voice sounded so far away to Draco's ears.

There she was, standing by the door, her face looking at him indirectly and her body turned toward the door. A beam of moonlight was playing like still water on the carpeted hallway, bathing her in luminescence.

"Good night," he replied, also in that far-away voice, like something out of a fairy tale.

She turned the knob on the door and let Ginny in first before disappearing, herself. Draco stared at the door for a moment and turned on his heel for the east parlor.

.

.

Author's Note: I thought it we were all well-due for a nice long post with lots of stuff happening in it! So there you go.

Thank you to theworstwitch, MyLookOfDenial., GoodCharlotte615, 1216, brooklynsam3, and RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder for reviewing! Love you guys!

theworstwitch - Thank you!! I'm glad you're enjoying everything so far!

An update on my daughter, Lira: She had to have a surgery where they put pins in her elbow to keep it stable, but the doctors said it was necessary to make sure her arm heals the right way. Course now I get to spend more time at home with my brood, which is nice, however bittersweet. Keep your kids away from jungle gyms! I'm kidding, of course. I played on them as a child, and I fully well know it's all up to chance. But all the same, be careful on them!


	24. It Will Happen

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Nothing," Draco muttered under his breath. "I've got nothing." The hallways were dark, for the most part. The gas lamps on the walls were so old and covered in dust, they barely gave off any light whatsoever. "I never had anything." His footsteps were dull thuds on the carpet, the sound disseminating instantly, like tiny echoes. "How did she convince me I had a chance to begin with?"

Draco often talked to himself when he was alone – it was a part of growing up as an only child in a mansion big enough to house several regiments.

"I told her… I told her there was no use to fight it. Trust a Gryffindor to waste effort like that."

But even as the words slid off his tongue, he felt childish saying them. A Gryffindor? Was he really still that discriminate? Maybe. Old habits die hard, after all.

"Draco?"

The voice startled him greatly; His heart sped up at an enormous rate. On the outside, he was the mirror of collected calm. He turned slowly to face the speaker, already knowing who it was.

"What are you doing awake at this hour?" Dora inquired. She was still wearing her day clothes: A cream-colored dress, conservative but for the teal and gold trim, and complimented by a feminine, tweed jacket. "You, of all people, should be trying to get some sleep!"

Draco inclined his head to show respect to the older woman, "I apologize. I didn't realize I would be in anyone's way. I was actually on my way to see my father."

Dora's lips pursed, and Draco was reminded of Professor McGonagoll. "The nerve of Lucius, keeping you awake at this hour! If you don't mind, I'll accompany you. I've got some last-minute details to firm up with your mother, anyway."

"Of course."

"May I ask what you were doing in this part of the house?" Dora questioned as they made their way through the corridors.

As was custom, Draco kept his hands folded behind his back and walked one step behind Dora, to her right. This was etiquette he'd been taught since a young age – showing subordinance to his betters. "I was escorting your granddaughter to her room. She was staying awake late in the library."

"Come walk by me, Draco. Starting tomorrow, you'll have precedence over quite a few people. You might as well become accustomed to the practice."

"If you wish it," he murmured, taking an extra step to walk by Dora's side. After having been taught to walk a step behind adults for so long, this simple difference felt strange. He knew better than to unclasp his hands from behind his back, however: Dora was still going to be his superior, whether he was married or not.

"Much better," Dora remarked. "What was Hermione doing awake at such an hour! She IS fully aware she's got to wake up at 7:00 sharp tomorrow morning… oh, I keep forgetting what it's like to have young people in the house!"

Draco unstuck his throat – it seemed to have closed, somehow, "It has been my experience that Hermione is very fond of books."

It felt odd, to talk of her… to even say her name when she wasn't present.

Dora was watching him, he realized suddenly. His cheeks tinged pink, though it went unnoticed in the dim lighting.

"You're not very happy about this arrangement, are you, Draco?"

The questions caught him so off-guard, Draco paused for a moment, and ended up a step behind Dora again. He quickly righted the mistake. Did Dora really care about his feelings, or was it an act? She seemed sincere…

"I recognize the advantages of such an arrangement and realize the necessity of them," he answered diplomatically.

Dora shook her head, her ridiculous earrings – mini, glowing replicas of the planet Saturn – clattering. "Your parents taught you your etiquette well. But you didn't answer the question, my dear."

Draco remained silent for a long moment. Finally, as they turned another corner, "I never was fond of Hermione, but recently, I've discovered that she is… tolerable."

"Tolerable," Dora repeated, her eyebrows raising.

Draco said nothing. They were silent for a time.

"My father has ulterior motives for this union," Draco remarked, nonchalant.

"Of course he does," Dora agreed, "marrying the Malfoys into the Blacks once more would be very clearly advantageous for your destroyed family name after all that Dark Lord business." She seemed quite smug with herself.

"Actually…" Draco cleared his throat, not quite ready to reveal to Dora everything he knew about the prophecy. He was not used to betraying his family interests, but at the same time, he was sick of being kicked around like a bad dog.

…Something stopped him.

It took Draco only a split second to remember his father's smooth cunning and willingness to do anything to get what he wanted. ANYTHING. Images flashing into Draco's head of Lucius exercising a carefully disguised Imperius Curse on Dora before finally finishing her off with a staged death.

Could he do that to this woman?

And more importantly… what would become of HIM? He surely wouldn't go unpunished, either…

"…I'm quite embarrassed you discovered that motive," Draco finished.

"Well, I'm afraid it was quite obvious, dear. But you're a nice, young man. I do want the best for my granddaughter, despite what she may think right now."

No. He couldn't do it. There had been enough deception and control while Voldemort was around. He would just have to marry the girl and figure things out from there.

Draco and Dora parted ways at the door of the parlor Lucius was using as a study. With a nod to Dora, Draco's eyes followed the old woman's footsteps down the hallway, where Narcissa was busy finalizing some of the finer details of the wedding, last minute.

Draco Malfoy had been through hell and back, so it had seemed, during the past two years – that whole mess he'd gotten himself into when he'd promised to kill off Dumbledore had certainly been a royal mess. Therefore, he felt next to no trepidation upon entering his father's study. Compared to Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy was nothing. And besides, his father needed him alive to fulfill the prophecy…

He pushed the door open and all but swaggered over to the leather seat across from his father. He was feeling particularly shunted and annoyed, and so he did not incline his head – the custom when entering a room containing a superior.

Come tomorrow, he would be a married man, anyway. What did it matter?

Lucius frowned, but ignored the omission gracefully; Draco was almost disappointed.

"I want only to make one thing painfully clear," Lucius announced, in the same manner as one discussing the weather, "I don't care how much you've discovered about my motives for arranging this marriage. You will follow through with everything that is asked of you. Once I have accomplished my will, you are free to do whatever you like. If it still... peeves you, you can procure a divorce document. I assure you, I won't try to stop you."

Draco said nothing, though his head was spinning with a million retorts; He held his tongue.

"Until that time, I expect nothing but obedience from you," Lucius continued.

Draco still said nothing.

"You can go now."

Draco rose from his seat, again purposefully refraining from inclining his head.

"Generally, my son, we acknowledge our betters," Lucius reminded him.

"Yeah, you should work on that," Draco answered, slamming the door behind him.

.

.

He couldn't sleep. 4 AM and he couldn't sleep. Everything was so out-of-control; He had never been in control – why was it bothering him NOW?

Resigning himself to the fact that he just simply wasn't going to get any sleep, Draco found himself dressing and heading down to the stables. At least horses weren't so judgmental as people tended to be.

It was 4:30 by the time he reached the main barn; Some of the hired help was already there, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they baled hay into the stalls. Turkin, Draco's favorite, had shoved as much of his body into the aisle as possible, indicating his eagerness for a good meal.

"All right, boy, calm down. I brought you something."

From his pocket, Draco quickly produced a healthy-sized carrot and presented it to the gelding. Turkin grabbed the treat and wolfed it down.

As soon as the horses had been given their breakfast, Draco went to go grab some grooming brushes.

"She's already got 'em, Mr. Malfoy," a stable boy informed him. "Showed up just before you did."

It took Draco a minute to recognize that the boy was referring to him: Mr. Malfoy! That was what everyone called his father…

"WHO took them?"

The stable boy stared at him. Draco already knew. He headed over to Zephyr's stall, and sure enough… there she was.

Draco dearly wanted to say something snide, or better yet – just turn around and walk away, pretending he'd never seen her. He was about to turn around and do so, when he noticed something that made him hesitate: Under Hermione's usually soft brown eyes, were deep purple marks, indicating that he was not the only one who hadn't slept.

Her whole body gave off an air of exhaustion, as though she hadn't slept correctly in ages. Probably, Draco reasoned, she hadn't. His mind flashed back to the day he'd discovered her in the woods. Such a smart girl… why had she done something so stupid?

"Draco?" Her voice brought him back to reality. "What are you doing here?"

"Couldn't sleep," he muttered.

"I couldn't either."

Hermione paused in her grooming of Zephyr. The horse looked up from her hay and nudged her companion with her nose. Hermione began putting her back into the grooming, her eyes still staring dully ahead.

Draco found his eyes transfixed on the top panels of the stall, about two feet to the left of Hermione's head. Like her, he didn't like to look at her for too long. He supposed he'd have to get used to it, though: It was only about 8 hours until the wedding.

The wedding. Supposedly, such an event would trigger a catalyst of nasty weather. Would it begin to rain as they were pronounced husband and wife? What a symbolic turn of events THAT could turn out to be…

Similar thoughts were running through Hermione's mind, though unlike Draco, she hadn't completely given up hope that some saving grace would pull her out of her marriage, last-minute. Harry and Ron were supposed to arrive at 9:30… perhaps one of them would have an idea… and who knew? Maybe Mr. Weasley would show up with some document or text announcing the illegality of the union.

There was also the possibility that Carissa Baxter was completely full of shit. Hermione hadn't ruled that out yet, either.

Her eyes flickered to Draco, who was zoned-out, staring at the wall behind her. She wondered what was on his mind. What did HE think of all of this? She would probably never find out, even if she asked…

"Why did you come here?" he asked, his tone of voice accidentally belligerent.

Hermione looked at him quickly before lowering her eyes once more, "I wanted some peace."

Her answer seemed to satisfy him; She was sure he'd come here for the same reason. It was kind of ironic that two people who just couldn't seem to stand one another did things so similarly… especially to escape a fate that would bind them together for life. Perhaps they were more alike than she'd originally thought…

Hermione banned that thought from her mind… only to re-think herself a few moments later. Why should she deny that she and Draco had things in common? If there was no way out of the marriage, wouldn't it make sense to capitalize on anything they could agree on for the sake of her own sanity? And besides, any man who loved horses and could play the piano couldn't be ENTIRELY bad… Right?

She could do this... she could be strong... she could...

.

.

Author's Note: Ha! You guys all thought you were going to get a wedding. Well, that's the next chapter. So stay tuned!

Thank you Mrs. Hermione Jane Weasley, whatifgirl, ivyluvsdramiones, RIPJameSirusLupinTrueMarauder, RaineyDays, MyLookOfDenial., and brooklynsam3 for the reviews!


	25. The Wedding!

Chapter Twenty-Four

The ivory silk fell around her legs, soft and smooth… like water somehow spun into fabric. Well, if Rumplestiltskin could spin straw into gold, why not water into silk? He'd surely outdone himself, this time. She slowly turned to face herself in the full-length mirror, unsure of what she was expecting to see reflected there.

Dora's eyes were sparkling as she surveyed her granddaughter: Inside her heart, she knew that indifference in a marriage was not as bad as it might seem. She, after all, had never loved Harfang in a romantic sense… yet they had been good companions their whole life. It was a gift she was proud to give to Hermione.

Hermione was asked to turn slightly so Jalena could make a small adjustment. Her delicate hands smoothed the top layer of the dress, and rested on the many layers beneath the first. The lace was coarse in comparison to the silk. It was intermingled with delicate silver linings, like pieces of cut-up starlight.

The image was not registering in Hermione's brain, which seemed to have shut off. Her body, however - in realization of the impending doom - was shaking like a wildflower during a storm.

"Before you get your hair touched up, darling, come over here so I can put this on you," Dora requested. The box encrusted with crystals was out again. Hermione felt the familiar lump in her throat rise.

She made her way across the room, the lights reflecting off the pearls and rhinestones beaded into the layers of the dress. Tiny splashes of light lit up the walls, but Hermione pretended not to see them. Something so beautiful should not be associated with the atrocity it represented. Jalena admired her from the mirror.

Dora opened the box and took out the pearl necklace. Hermione gathered her hair off the nape of her neck so Dora could fasten the layered jewelry there.

"Beautiful!" Jalena exclaimed excitedly.

Hermione touched the elegant string of pearls around her neck… her mother's pearls…

And overwhelming sadness overtook her whole being at that moment. Marrying Draco wouldn't even be so terrible if only her mother was here…

"I know," Dora consoled, taking her granddaughter in her arms. "I miss your mother, too."

Hermione allowed herself to be enveloped in Dora's peppermint smell as the older woman embraced her. It was an unfamiliar kind of embrace, however… almost less comforting.

But she would not cry… no.

Hermione caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror and paused a moment, just to make sure it was really her that was staring back.

"Is the bodice too tight, dear, or are you really that slender?" Dora asked, pulling away from the hug.

"I'm fine."

After one final inspection, Dora smiled at her granddaughter. "Are you ready to get your hair fixed up?"

Hermione did not respond. Jalena took her by the arm and led her out of the room, to the room next-door with the vanity and a professional stylist.

Dora's smile slid off her face as soon as her granddaughter had left the room. She slumped into a chair, hand on her forehead and feeling ashamed of herself. More than she ever had. Companionship was a wonderful thing – if it was truly the gift being given. Somewhere inside herself, Dora knew that was not the type of gift she was giving.

.

.

She had told herself she would not cry. She could not break down at this moment – not now. There was no one there to hold her and tell her she would be alright.

All the same, as Hermione peeked through the crack in the doors she was to enter through, she couldn't help but feel intensely sorry for herself. There was a sizable group of people inside the room just beyond the doors. She could catch glimpses of peoples' faces, but none she recognized.

"Hermione?" a voice whispered from just behind the door. She recognized it; Her heart leapt.

"Harry," she gasped, intensely overjoyed to hear her friend's voice.

"Are you alright?"

Hermione couldn't reply for a moment. She bit her lip. "I'm not sure."

There was a pause from the other side of the door. "Is it okay if I come back there?"

"Yes."

Hermione creaked the door open a little, thankful that it didn't squeak. Harry slipped in and immediately enveloped his friend in a hug. Hermione squeezed him tightly, thankful for at least one familiar pair of arms to wrap around her.

"We're starting soon!" Ginny murmured quietly, giving Harry a fearful pair of eyes. "What are you doing back here?"

"It's okay, Ginny," Harry murmured, still hugging Hermione closely. "A few more moments couldn't hurt."

Dora poked her head inside the door and observed Harry's arms around Hermione with a look of distrust. "One minute, darling… what is HE doing here?"

"This is my friend Harry," Hermione answered, not looking her grandmother in the eyes. "And Ginny's boyfriend."

Dora relaxed, "Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded. Hermione couldn't help a tiny smile: Everyone always did a double-take at Harry's name, no matter what the circumstances…

"I'll be walking her down the aisle, if that's perfectly alright with you," Harry announced in a tone that clearly expected that Dora had better be alright with the idea.

The older woman took the hint, "Of course. That would be wonderful. One minute, Hermione darling! Ginny, dear, please follow me. Quickly!"

Dora disappeared from the doorway. Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand and squeezed it tightly before rushing out the door after her great aunt to take her place at the altar. She gave Harry a peck on the cheek on her way out.

Hermione and Harry were alone now. "You look beautiful," he murmured, probably because he had no idea what else to say.

"Thank you for wanting to walk me," she replied in earnest. "I had always imagined my father would be the one to do it, but I am just as grateful, if not more so that someone I love as much as you could do it."

"Your father is here today, Hermione," Harry answered, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear and squeezing her hand, "I know he's with you now, giving you strength, just as my father always did for me when I needed him most. You are the strongest woman I know."

"Harry..." she murmured. He wrapped her in another tight hug. "Thank you for everything you've ever done for me, and for everything you're doing now. I… don't know when I'll get to see you next…"

There was a hush that enveloped the room behind the door. Everyone had settled into their places. Hermione took several gulps of air.

"How's Ron taking this?"

Harry looked at her quickly. "He's being Ron."

Hermione nodded. Even though she knew she and Ron weren't meant to be… on this day, she loved him more than she ever had.

The music cued in the next room.

"Oh God," she muttered under her breath.

"Be strong," Harry encouraged, taking her arm as the doors swung open. The chapel was filled with a sea of people all staring at Hermione. She took another deep breath.

Ginny's eyes were boring into Hermione's, which were hidden behind the ridiculous veil Dora has insisted she wear. Blaise Zabini was inspecting his fingernails casually. And Draco…

Even from the other end of the aisle, Hermione could see that his gray eyes were on fire with frustration and… something. She looked away from him. Having Harry at her side filled her with a sense that she was protected, no matter what was in Draco's eyes. She was safe now. Harry was there. Her father was there. Her mother was there. She was safe.

Draco was staring more at Harry than he was at Hermione. There was some confusion regarding this arrangement – he had known Harry would be AT his wedding, but he did NOT know he was going to be IN it.

It didn't matter. The Harry and Hermione vessel arrived at the altar and were forced to part. Harry gave Hermione one last squeeze of her hand in reassurance as he stepped away. Before he took his seat, Harry stared hard at Draco, as if daring him to even think about hurting Hermione in any way. Draco's eyes narrowed.

Hermione could not even register what the man at the altar was saying. He had a deep voice, one that penetrated the whole room with resounding depth. Harry was gone now and she was alone in the center of a room filled with people, all of who were staring at her. She glanced at the front row. Dora was smiling, but even to Hermione, it seemed forced. Lucius was smirking, as was typical. Narcissa was tearing up and dabbing a tissue she'd conjured, at the corners of her eyes.

"If any person present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage, they should declare it now or forever hold their peace."

Hermione saw a movement in the audience, and when she went to go investigate, she discovered it to be Ron attempting to stand, while Harry pulled him back down. There were some whisperings and mutterings in the audience. The man at the altar – Hermione didn't even know who he was – stared expectantly at the spot where Ron was seated. Hermione cast a glance at Ron, knowing full well that no one could see her face behind the veil. His face… made her heart want to break: The look of desperation, the anger and frustration over being able to do nothing.

When it was determined that no one was going to say or do anything, the man turned to Draco, "Are you, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, free to lawfully marry Hermione Jane Granger?"

Draco looked like a little kid who'd been denied dessert, "I am."

"And are you, Hermione Jane Granger, free to lawfully marry Draco Abraxas Malfoy?"

Her throat was stuck, but she finally managed an, "I am."

There was another pause in the ceremony, punctuated by a sniffle from Narcissa.

More talking… Hermione couldn't pay proper attention. She was still alone, and even worse, she soon wouldn't EVER be – and that would be permanent. She wanted to call on her mother and father to give her strength, but when she tried to recall their faces, they were disappointingly blurry images.

She couldn't help it: A tear slid down her face, unbidden.

"I call upon these persons here present to witness the union of these two people. Do you, Draco Abraxas, take Hermione Jane to your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I……… do," Draco pouted.

"And you, Hermione Jane: Do you take Draco Abraxas to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," she choked.

"Then I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride."

Draco shot his father a look of sheer terror before turning back to his wife. Another tear slid down Hermione's cheek.

"Just do it," she muttered as quietly as she could. Draco heard her: He suspected the only reason either of them complied was out of sake of etiquette. He lifted away the ridiculous veil and surveyed her. Noticing the tears, the anger all but disappeared from his face. He placed one hand under her chin to tilt her face up to his and planted his lips on hers.

The kiss ended very quickly. The veil was placed back down over her face – not very traditional. In fact, the only reason Draco did it was not because he was afraid of looking at his new wife, but because he did not want to embarrass her by leaving her face open for everyone to see her tears.

Draco Malfoy DID have some compassion, after all… even if no one had it for him.

.

.

Author's Note: So there you have it, lambs: The wedding! This, I think, is my least favorite chapter. I feel like in reality, Ron WOULD have said something. Or Harry would have thought of that Polyjuice Potion, even if Hermione couldn't have told him. BUT for the sake of this story, everyone had to be a little out-of-character. In real life, there is no way Hermione and Draco would ever have gotten married of their own free will.

Thank-you to tfobmv18, brooklynsam3, Jane Weasley, MyLookOfDenial., Shaiya 'tears-in-her-eyes', RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, sureynot, whatifgirl and GoodCharlotte615 for your reviews! And thanks also for being patient!

Shaiya 'tears-in-her-eyes' - Pickles and cupcakes? Hmm. Reminds me of my last pregnancy. I decided to try that pickles and ice cream thing everyone always jokes about with pregnant women. Well, all it did was make me sick. Tasted good while it lasted, though. I dunno, I guess the sourness of the pickles and the sweetness of the cupcakes reminded me of that. Haha

Oh, P.S. the other link to see the picture of Hermione's dress didn't quite work. So let's try again:

dagnez. trustpass. alibaba. com ::slash:: product ::slash:: 11276825 ::slash:: Designer ::underscore:: 100 ::underscore:: Pure ::underscore:: Natural ::underscore:: Silk ::underscore:: Wedding ::underscore:: Corset ::underscore:: Gown ::slash:: showimg. html

I know that's a mess, but it's really the only way they let you put links in these anymore. If anyone does try to give it a look, just get rid of the spaces everywhere, and wherever I put a ::underscore:: or a ::slash:: just add those marks. They don't let you use them in html. It's stoopid. But hey, let me know what you think of the dress!


	26. Reception

Chapter Twenty-Five

The reception went by in a blur: Hermione vaguely remembered people toasting the newlyweds, but also that she and Draco did not make eye contact even once throughout the whole thing.

That was good… she still couldn't handle the eye contact very well. She wondered if part of the reason he was so ashamed of marrying her also had something to do with the way he'd discovered her in the woods that day…

But no, it did not do to think of those things.

After the meal (she was suspicious that it had been prepared magically, as it had that slightly different tang that no one from the wizarding world seemed to notice, but which she, raised as a Muggle, could taste), Hermione slipped away to the bathroom.

Ginny was there almost immediately, looking beautiful in the once-pink dress – she'd changed it to green, which was lovely with her hair. Ginny's arms wrapped around Hermione, but she wouldn't cry. It was done, and it did not do to waste tears on it any longer.

"How are you holding up?" her friend inquired.

"Not too horribly, all things considered," Hermione answered, feeling for once in her life, that it was pretty much true. She could be feeling a heck of a lot worse than she was. It was puzzling.

"Where do we go from here?"

It was a good question; Hermione didn't know. "I think my grandmother knows. I haven't talked to her since before the wedding."

Ginny was silent, stroking her hands through Hermione's hair lovingly, like a fretting mother.

"It was nice of Harry to walk me," Hermione stated.

"It's in his nature," Ginny agreed, "he hates watching people suffer, or abandoning them."

"He's grown up a lot."

"He sure has."

"You're lucky."

Ginny looked as if she was about to say something, but closed her mouth. Finally, "Malfoy… I mean, Draco's grown up a lot, too, Hermione."

"…I know."

"Shall we go back out? People are going to wonder who stole the bride."

Hermione nodded and took Ginny's arm. Together, the two of them left the bathroom, only to come face-to-face with someone altogether completely unexpected.

"Adrian?" Hermione murmured in surprise.

"Hermione," Adrian acknowledged, inclining his head. "Or would you prefer Mrs. Malfoy?"

Hermione cringed. Ginny frowned.

"I'm sorry," he corrected himself, "I wasn't aware this was a match you weren't happy with. My condolences and apologies."

Hermione took the boy in. It was remarkable how much like a Malfoy he looked. Yet he seemed out-of-place, probably because Hermione had never seen him out of a cloak and boots before.

"What are you doing here Adrian?"

"I was invited," he answered, sounding surprised she hadn't known.

Hermione had been trained by Dora to hide surprise – she utilized that ability now. "Oh, I had forgotten. My own apologies. There is quite a bit on my mind: Please excuse a befuddled and forgetful brain."

She made a mental note to ask Dora about the invitation later…

"Not a problem at all," he answered, settling in to the conversation.

As if it was a sixth sense, Draco's eyes rose from across the room and settled on Hermione, immediately thereafter flicking to Adrian. He knew it HAD to be Adrian, even though all he could see was the back of the boy's head. What gave him the nerve to think it was alright for him to come here? To his wedding?

The kid had some nerve.

Draco excused himself from the conversation keeping him – some unknown relative or another – and made his way across the room.

Ginny spotted him, "Uh-oh. Here comes trouble, himself."

"Just be civil," Hermione muttered.

Draco approached, his eyes locked on the back of Adrian's head, and stopped short in front of the boy. "Can I inquire as to why the hell you're here?"

"He was invited," Hermione blurted out.

Draco didn't turn to look at her, "By you?"

Hermione was silent, not wanting to lie. She had no idea how Adrian had acquired an invitation.

"I heard they invited everyone with Black family blood," Adrian sneered. "But I forgot you blue bloods all have your heads up your asses."

Draco stared at Adrian with a grimace that was reciprocated, creating a kind of mirror effect. Ginny did a quick double-take at the two boys, before determining the differences in appearance.

"I never understood what the hell was wrong with you," Adrian grumbled, looking away from Draco's blatantly rude gaze. "What do you even have against me? You WON the freaking match, already."

"You… are no member of the Black family line," Draco stated. It was no question.

Hermione bit her lip, wishing the conversation had never taken place.

"Yes," Adrian countered, "I am. Were you really never aware of it?"

"You're no relative of mine."

"Draco," Hermione warned, though even to her own ears, she didn't sound very convincing. Draco ignored her.

Adrian rolled his eyes, "Still in denial, I see. Well fine."

"What the hell do you know, anyway. I know my family tree," Draco retorted; It struck Hermione that he was acting very childish.

"You really didn't know?" Adrian questioned, sounding so genuinely surprised that Draco paused a moment, possibly to reconsider.

"Know what, for Merlin's sake?"

"You didn't even KNOW your father had been married before?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Draco demanded, looking at Adrian as though he were mad. "My father was betrothed to my mother since they were fifteen years old and they married at twenty. That was the end of the story."

Adrian stared at him. "He never told you!"

Draco was beginning to get visibly uncomfortable, "I TOLD you... that was the whole story."

"No," Adrian contradicted, "it isn't. When he was eighteen, YOUR father got drunk one night and married spontaneously. He was traveling abroad. The next morning, once sober, he filed a request for divorce and hushed up any press he might have gotten regarding the incident, making it untraceable. But… I'm still surprised he never told you."

"You better not be making something this profound up," Draco warned.

"My mother is your father's ex-wife. My father… is your father. We're half-brothers."

Draco stared in disbelief; Hermione put a hand to her mouth, as if to stifle a noise of surprise she knew she never would have made anyway.

"That can't be," Draco finally replied obstinately.

"It is," Adrian repeated, growing impatient, "so get over it."

Draco stared in disbelief. He had a brother? He couldn't. It was impossible.

"I wish I had known earlier that you never knew," Adrian continued. "It would have saved a lot of hatred I'd built up for you."

Draco nodded dumbly. He had a brother! Still not completely convinced, he resolved to look further into the matter as soon as he got home. He'd always been the only child. Always. Had that been a lie? If so, that was a big part of his life that had been a lie, just like so many others... Just who WAS Draco Malfoy, anyway? Draco realized he didn't really know.

"I'll take my leave, I think," Adrian said finally, addressing Hermione and virtually ignoring Draco. As went properly with pureblood customs, he bowed deeply to Hermione, as a married woman and nodded to Draco. To Ginny, he took her hand and kissed it, then left almost as abruptly as he'd arrived.

The three were silent for a few moments before the music in the next room began to change its beat to something slower. It was a cue.

"We've got other places to be," Draco murmured moodily. He took Hermione by the hand, and – still not looking at her – lead her into the next room.

.

.

Author's Note: I hate this chapter. But I've had writer's block, unfortunately, and this is the best I could do for now. I didn't want to go too long without another update, anyway. I can only hope that the block goes away soon.

Thank you to CherryKatt202 for your message, and to RaineyDays, mkhtl, MyLookOfDenial., brooklynsam3, Shaiya 'tears-in-her-eyes', tfobmv18, whatifgirl, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, and GoodCharlotte615 for your reviews.

I'm glad everyone seemed to like the dress! I found it and fell in love with it.

Comments and especially criticism would help a lot at this point, to help get rid of the writer's block. So if you found anything at all wrong so far, even if it was like...seven chapters ago, please let me know how you feel (nicely). Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving!


	27. Moving Out!

Chapter Twenty-Six

It rained that night.

Hermione managed to escape the reception early by feigning a massive headache. Dora insisted she accompany her granddaughter, whilst encouraging Ginny to stay behind and enjoy herself awhile longer.

Though disappointed her friend couldn't come along, Hermione was somewhat satisfied with the decision, knowing Ginny and Harry hadn't had a dance yet. It would probably be good for the two of them – even when true love is present, it still needs nurturing, after all...

"Really, you don't need to come with me. I'll be fine by myself," Hermione protested, as Dora took her arm to leave the room.

"Nonsense, and I'll not hear another word of it, either," Dora half-retorted.

Hermione smoothed out her dress and said in her most final tone, "I wish to be alone."

Dora took a step back and surveyed her granddaughter quickly. Her voice had been so final, so decisive, so… very much like Dora, herself. Frowning with one painted-on eyebrow, Dora took another step back and murmured, "Very well, then. I shall see you tomorrow morning, my dear."

Hermione nodded, sought out some of the more important guests, such as the Minister of Magic, and thanked them for their attendance. Once finally convinced she'd been a good hostess, she disapparated directly into her bedroom back at the Black Manor.

The fatigue was overwhelming; She collapsed on the bed, face-down.

.

.

The sun woke Hermione the next morning. She blinked a few times, bleary eyes taking in the zebra-patterned quilt (no doubt a piece of Dora's eccentric collection). It took her brain a few seconds to register where she was.

She sat up and caught a look at the giant French windows, only to find rain pattering down on the balcony. When she refocused her eyes properly, something even more disconcerting met her eyes; Who was that woman reflected in the glass? The make-up around her eyes was smudged from having slept with it all on, and her hair was tousled. A once magnificent wedding dress was rumpled and creased where she'd slept on it.

Was that girl REALLY Hermione Granger?

No, she wasn't, Hermione realized with a pang.

That girl was Mrs. Hermione Malfoy.

Exhaustion seemed to course through her veins like a poison, with the same devastating effect. She glanced at the cuckoo clock hanging on the wall, determining it to be 7:37 in the morning – much later than she normally woke up.

As if knowing she was awake – and possibly he did – George apparated into the bedroom with a pop and a tea tray in hand.

"Breakfast for you, madam? You've a long day ahead of yourself," he greeted, gesturing to the tray.

Getting up, Hermione managed to smile feebly. She wasn't able to fool George, however. He poured her a steaming cup of peppermint tea and interjected with a, "Something I can do for you, madam?"

"You can go back to calling me 'miss'," Hermione grumbled under her breath, annoyed at the reminder of the unfortunate marriage the previous day.

George attempted to hide a smirk, "Here's your tea, miss."

Hermione took the tea gratefully and took a sip. It burned her tongue a little, so she put the cup down.

"Did you hear of the red ship and the blue ship that collided, miss?"

Hermione looked up at him with a heavy frown. "What on earth are you talking about?" she snapped irritably.

"I heard both the crews were marooned," George replied with a straight face.

Perhaps it was a mark of how unhappy she truly was that Hermione didn't even smile.

"I believe your grandmother wishes to see you in her office," George finally said, once he was aware that he wasn't getting even a chuckle.

"Well you may tell her I have no wish to see her."

Well? If she was a Malfoy now… she might as well act like one…

George hesitated and gave Hermione a reproachful look. She immediately felt horrible for saying such a thing, but stood her stance nonetheless. It was time someone stood up to Callidora Black. Granted she was doing it a little late, but it was better to be late than never!

Hesitantly, George disapparated to relay the message. Hermione rose from the bed, trying not to feel a little sorry for herself, and pulled the pins and destroyed flowers from her hair. Her hair fell, crinkly and knotted, around her shoulders into the typical Hermione bush of hair. She frowned and decided to shower. Once she was clean, perhaps she could think straight…

The shower certainly was refreshing. She emerged feeling much less irritable.

This would be the beginning of a new era, a new Hermione, she decided. She would not be pushed around any longer; From the way people still regarded the Malfoy name (even after that shady business with Voldemort), she was sure she now wielded some kind of power, whether she liked it or not.

She wrapped a towel around herself and retreated back into the bedroom to find some suitable clothes to wear. Feeling glad that George was not there waiting for her, she opened the twin doors to the walk-in closet and rummaged through all the clothes there, half of which she had never worn, or even seen before.

"What would a Malfoy wear?" she thought aloud to herself.

Her eyes finally came to rest on a bronze silk dress with only one sleeve and a gold trim.

"That's nothing like what a Malfoy would wear," she decided with a smirk and removed the frock from its hanger.

She was going to mess with all their worlds by being unconventional. And if they didn't like it, well that was just too bad for them.

Jalena was waiting back in the bedroom with a satisfied look on her face as she surveyed Hermione. "That's lovely, miss."

"Thank you," Hermione replied.

"Your grandmother has already moved all your things into your new house, except this room, of course."

"My things?"

Jalena nodded as if Hermione should have known that already; "Of course. We've just got to move your clothes and things now. We can leave whenever you're ready."

"Already?"

Jalena nodded. Hermione paused, "Was my grandmother angry that I didn't want to see her?"

Jalena shuffled a bit, "Not really, miss. Just a bit upset, that's all. But she understood."

Hermione immediately felt guilty. "May I see her before I leave?"

"She's gone out."

Disappointed and feeling ashamed, Hermione murmured, "I see."

"Shall I get your things?"

With a nod from her mistress, Jalena whipped out her wand and set to work packing up Hermione's numerous belongings.

"Where am I going, do you know?" Hermione inquired.

"I believe the mistress said your father-in-law bought you a house."

"A whole house!" Hermione exclaimed. What a fantastical thought… a whole house. "Probably a gloomy place…"

Jalena smiled wanly as she finished with the packing. "Are you set, miss?"

Hermione nodded. "The address?"

"We've got a Portkey," Jalena corrected lightly. "It leaves at ten 'til nine."

Hermione checked the clock on the wall, "Well that's another ten minutes…" She peered about the room, noticing its emptiness. "What will happen to the horses? Zephyr?"

"Already waiting for you," Jalena replied as though it should have been obvious.

Stunned, but not wanting to show it, Hermione fell silent. Her grandmother had thought of everything… and she had told her she didn't want to see her. Her heart sunk a little. Who was she kidding? She couldn't be a Malfoy. There was no way.

.

.

When it finally came time for the Portkey to leave, Jalena handed it to Hermione – an old silver spoon. "Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded as both girls took – with some difficulty – all of Hermione's belongings into their hands and arms. On the stroke of ten 'til nine, they were whisked away, swirling around and around until they were sufficiently dizzy and had to let go.

They landed – Jalena somewhat more gracefully – on the threshold of an entrance hall that put Black Manor to shame. Where Hermione had thought Dora had overdone her rooms, she realized now that she had been very, VERY wrong. There simply hadn't been anything to prepare her for this kind of extravagance.

Huge spiral staircases graced both sides of the room, carpeted in what appeared to be Turkish handiwork. The center of the room was a huge oval, big enough to fit the whole of the house Hermione had lived with her parents in. Signs of hoards of money were everywhere; the curtains were of a deep green velvet… some of the windows were made entirely of stained glass… a huge crest and coat of arms was displayed prominently on the far wall.

The first thing Hermione really took note of though, was the lack of light. The walls, made of mahogany and naturally dark, did not offer much to help that issue. The only real light came from a skylight high above them (not very helpful with all the rain), and a few floating candles situated in various places around the hall.

"It's dark," Hermione finally acknowledged.

Jalena snickered to herself. "Shall we go upstairs?"

"Can we help mistresses with their belongings?" a squeaky voice intruded, sounding very nearly hopeful.

Hermione whirled around to confirm her worst fears: There, before her, stood three house elves.

Jalena seemed about to comply, but Hermione replied quickly, "They're all clothes, thanks."

The three house elves bowed and exited, but not before promising Hermione and Jalena they would bring them a tray of tea, despite Hermione's protests.

"You're the same as your grandmother, aren't you?" Jalena muttered, somewhat disgruntled at having to levitate everything up the numerous sets of stairs. "Don't believe in house elves…"

This one last comparison to her good-hearted grandmother set Hermione into a silent sadness over having wronged such a woman.

If I was hoping to help ruin my life, Hermione thought to herself spitefully, I am doing a wonderful job so far…

.

.

Author's Note: Thanks to brooklynsam3, GoodCharlotte615, gitgit, Shaiya 'tears-in-her-eyes', tfobmv18, spikeecat, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, MyLookOfDenial., and InvisibleLilacNights for the reviews! Reviews are always greatly appreciated.

I'm really very sorry about the long wait since my last post and this one. It has been the longest wait thusfar - 3 weeks, I think. But please, don't send me messages asking me to update soon. I am really flattered that you like my story, but I am a mother of four small children with a full-time job. I don't always have the time to update as often as you, or even I, would like. Please respect that.

Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas or Hannukah or Kwanzaa! (Did I forget anything?? Eek.)

I will try to update a little sooner next time.


	28. Brass, Velvet and a Lot o' Anticipation

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hermione and Jalena were directed to the left staircase by another house elf. Hermione cringed, but vowed to wait until later to vent her spleen on the matter. The two girls levitated all of Hermione's things up the stairs, where they came face-to-face with a single, short hallway containing nothing but a door at the far end.

"That's simple enough to find, I suppose," Hermione relented, heading for the door.

"I wonder where the master is?" Jalena said aloud.

Hermione's hand shot back from the doorknob, as though it had been shocked. What if he was IN there? Right now?

Sensing her reluctance, Jalena knocked lightly on the door. Getting no reponse, she pushed it open and peered around. "Woah!"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed.

Jalena pushed the door open the remainder of the way, and Hermione understood… she hadn't made an exclamation because she'd seen Draco… but rather, because she'd seen the master bedroom.

The room was huge! Now Hermione saw that the only reason there had only been one door in the hallway up the left staircase was because the bedroom really took up that much space.

The girls made their way inside with all of Hermione's belongings and set them all down on the bed with a thump...

More like a giant-sized sleigh than a bed, Hermione thought to herself, peering at the velvet hangings, which were way too heavy for the summertime.

Jalena immediately set about exploring where all the clothes were supposed to go. One side of the bedroom seemed devoted entirely to a walk-in closet that was nearly as big as Hermione's old bedroom back when she'd lived with her parents. One half of the closet was full with men's clothing and shoes, hats, scarves and robes.

"I suppose everything goes in here, then," Jalena concluded, gesturing to the empty half of the walk-in. Hermione made her way inside with a pile of clothes, making sure to tuck away her unmentionables before anyone should see them. She stole a few glances to the other side of the closet. It looked pretty well lived-in for a place so new. Out of one corner, she spotted Draco's green and silver Slytherin scarf poking out from under a jacket.

In an act of defiance, she rummaged through the pile until she found her Gryffindor scarf. With contumacious satisfaction, she hung the scarf on one of the hooks on the far wall. Satisfied that it was visible enough, she smirked to herself.

Putting everything back was a chore. And once they were done, they still had to explore the bathroom and put the rest of Hermione's essentials in there.

The master bathroom happened to be on the other side of the bedroom, another huge area with a huge jacuzzi off to the left. The taps to the sink were brass elephants – something that reminded Hermione of Dora.

"I think that's everything," Jalena concluded, hands on her hips and looking somewhat satisfied with herself. "A job well done."

"Are you leaving?" Hermione accidentally demanded, her eyes windening with the fear of the thought.

Jalena looked at her weirdly, "I work for your grandmother, miss, and everyone in her household." She looked sheepish for some reason, as she uttered those words.

"Oh, of course," Hermione murmured. She hadn't been thinking… of course Jalena would leave!

"Will you be alright?"

The question was asked with such sincerity that Hermione actually paused to consider it for a moment. Would she be alright? Well, one could only hope, but at this point there was really no way to tell.

"Yes, of course," she answered nonetheless.

.

.

Draco did not appear that night, though Hermione saw telltale signs that he'd been there. After several unsuccessful attempts to get the house elves to accept wages and a few turns about the mansion, Hermione began to grow a little more at ease.

She refused dinner, instead deciding to try and memorize as much of the house as was possible, to avoid getting lost in her own home (an embarrassing thought, to be sure!). She kept noticing Black family heirlooms appearing in all shapes and sizes around the place – no doubt gifts or inheritances Dora had passed on to her now that she was married. Guilt welled like fear in Hermione's chest and burned like someone had put a candle inside her lungs.

Little things happened to show Draco had been there: A book appeared on one of the desks in the library, or a set of curtains were pulled shut. In one case, a white button-up collared shirt appeared on the bedpost in the master bedroom, destroying Hermione's theory that it was really a mischievous house elf playing mind games with her.

She fell asleep that night in between the cold satin sheets of the giant bed, alone and listening to the rain.

.

.

Draco wasn't really sure what he was doing in there. It was the one place he didn't want to be… yet, was it curiosity that drew him in?

He sunk down into the huge armchair astride the cherry-wood desk in order to compose a letter. Hermione was still asleep; He could hear her irregular breathing and occasional movement between the sheets, signifying she wasn't getting a very peaceful rest.

In fact, he was just filling up his second cup of coffee when she began to rouse from her sleep. He looked up from the piece of parchment he was composing, at his wife, who really was in desperate need of a hairbrush at that moment.

She rose into a seated position; Her eyes looked around frantically for a moment until they found his. She regarded him carefully, making sure still to never make eye contact.

"Um, good morning," she attempted pleasantly, drawing the sheets over herself a little more, as if to try hiding the little skin her conservative sleepwear did actually show.

Draco grunted. Unexpectedly, an owl flew through the window and landed on the writing desk.

"Dizzy?" Hermione murmured in recognition. Apparently, Dora really DIDN'T want her granddaughter without any of the comforts she had enjoyed at Black Manor… including her own personal owl.

Draco took the letter from Dizzy and shooed the bird away. Hermione frowned and studied the man at the writing table for a moment as the disgruntled owl flapped from the room, back into the rain outside.

"For you," he muttered, levitating the piece of folded parchment over to her. He still hadn't made eye contact.

Hermione caught the letter in both hands – just her first name was scrawled across the front in some undeniably familiar print: Harry had written her!

Eagerly, she tore open the letter. It was disappointingly short, though the words written there held a much greater happiness than she'd anticipated:

.

Hermione-

Ginny, Ron and I are going to Diagon Alley to go shopping for our last year of Hogwarts. McGonagall's sent your letter to the Weasleys since you were moving around so much. We have it here. I thought you might want to get away for a little while. Want to join us? Just show up at the Burrow at quarter of noon!

-Harry

P.S. Ron told me to add that if Malfoy was doing anything disrespectful to you, he will wring his neck.

.

"Coffee?" Draco offered, pushing a cup toward the end of the desk.

Hermione looked at him weirdly. Not that he noticed; His eyes were still rooted to the letter he was composing.

"Indeed," she finally decided, rising from the bed and taking the cup, still making sure to leave at least two feet between herself and Draco at all times. "Pass the cream, please."

He pushed the little silver pitcher across the table in her direction, eyes never leaving the surface of the desk. She was glad that way, though; With a little smile, Hermione took the cup of coffee with her into the walk-in closet to dress herself for the day, thinking to herself that if she and Draco were able to maintain such impersonal conversation, while remaining civil… she could do this.

She could do it.

.

.

Author's Note: A bit of a sooner update for you! Hope everyone is enjoying the snow - unless you don't get snow. Er... yeah. I have always been fascinated by snow, personally.

Thanks a ton to tfobmv18, , AerintheWhiteKnight, InvisibleLilacNights, MyLookOfDenial., and gitgit for the reviews!! Seems the lot of you were disappointed at the lack of Malfoy in the last few chapters. I shall probably have to devote a chapter entirely to our favorite Slytherin soon. Thanks for the tips!


	29. Rain

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Draco found himself far more relaxed than he'd anticipated once Hermione had dressed and left the room. She hadn't told him where she was going… though it wasn't really like he gave a damn, anyway.

He re-read the letter he finished with a critical eye: It was important he didn't sound too wishy-washy, or even apologetic. What was important… was that Adrian knew he was interested in nurturing their brotherhood.

Nurturing? Well… maybe that was going a bit far. Malfoys never nurture.

Acknowledging... yes. That was good.

Draco carefully made the small change and then, satisfied with what he'd written, he carefully sealed the envelope.

It was interesting that, two days after the wedding, he was already thinking less about his new wife than the fact that he had a sibling, albeit a half-brother.

Brushing off the house elf that offered to take the letter to the owlery for him, Draco decided to take the long way around the manor, mostly to collect his thoughts.

Now that he was married, he automatically had lots of business to attend to. There was a job lined up for him at the Ministry of Magic, as well – not that he really needed to work for money. It was more of a way to pass the time. Some ambassador's job – which meant more time away from home, as well. The perks were nice and both he and Hermione could remain sane that way.

Draco stopped in his tracks.

"BOTH of us could remain sane? Since when did I care?" he demanded of himself.

"Sounds like you've already lost that battle to me."

Draco whirled around, wand immediately at the ready – but no one was there. "Show yourself," he challenged.

"To your left."

Draco turned to his left, but again there was no one present; His eyes narrowed.

"Oh bother!" the voice sighed. "The gargoyle!"

Draco's eyes riveted themselves to the stone gargoyle occupying the cranny in the hallway. He supposed it was meant for some kind of decoration, framed between two overdone velvet window hangings – but it was really quite ugly.

"What? Never seen a talking gargoyle before?" the gargoyle demanded.

Draco played calm. He was sure the gargoyle looked familiar somehow, though he was pretty positive he'd never met one that could talk. "Never seen YOU before, that's for sure."

"Did I startle you?" the gargoyle queried hopefully.

"I don't startle very easily."

"Hmph, it's too bad. I've been pretty bored in this part of the house. There's nothing to do and nothing interesting to look at. No one ever comes through this hallway, either – except the house elves, but scaring them's got old."

"What a shame," Draco uttered, completely unconcerned.

"There was the lady, though," the gargoyle added as an afterthought. "Yes, she came through here yesterday."

"A lady?"

"Mmmhmm, gorgeous creature, really. Kind of nerdy-looking, though."

Draco snorted, "What was she doing in this part of the house?"

"Not sure. It kind of looked like she was exploring. Talking to herself a mite – about some guy named Albert… no, that wasn't it. Alfie? No…. Alan. Yeah, Alan – he ruined everything or some tosh."

"I don't know any Alans."

The gargoyle made a motion that seemed to be shrugging its shoulders, "Blathered if I know, either."

"Indeed. Have a nice day."

"Yes, yes. I'll see you in a year or so," the gargoyle muttered, rolling its eyes. "Be sure to visit!"

Draco did not reply, choosing instead to continue on his way. It was interesting – he'd never heard of Hermione referred to as 'gorgeous' before – but he supposed in a way, she kind of was. She had been absolutely stunning at the wedding, hardly recognizable and yet, it simply couldn't have been anyone else.

Realization struck suddenly…

The woods that day… the blood… the nakedness of her body… the wide, glassy eyes. He was sure she was dead.

And Alan must be…

Anger flared up in his heart. What gave anyone the right to violate someone in that way? That monstrous deed was even worse than the Cruciatus, in his mind.

"It's sick," he spat.

His mood had not improved upon reaching the owlery. There were only seven household owls and Draco employed the one closest to the door, roughly attaching the letter to the creature's leg.

With an annoyed peck at Draco's hand, the disgruntled bird flew off into the rain. Draco hardly noticed.

"Wonder if they ever caught that damn Muggle," he wondered aloud to himself. He stared out at the landscape spread before him; It was really a glorious view – the mansion was situated by the Irish Sea, some miles away from the town of Abereiddy. He quietly marveled to himself the idea that he now lived in Wales, a separate country even from his parents.

"That damn Muggle is out there somewhere," he murmured. "People like that don't deserve to be free."

He wondered what Hermione would say were he to hire someone to track the guy down.

"No, can't do that – remember? She doesn't know you're even involved."

Draco shook his head; Why should he do that, anyway? Hermione hadn't shared the experience with him, therefore he had no right to meddle. It wasn't his problem, anyway. Why should he even care?

Upon returning to his office in the West Wing, Draco was surprised to find a note from his father. It seemed harmless enough – merely asking Draco to bring Hermione by that night for dinner – but in the pit of his stomach, Draco knew there was more to it.

He could think only of the visit to Carissa Baxter, or the glint that shone in Lucius' eyes from time to time.

Dinner would be interesting, that was for sure.

But…

An idea came to Draco.

He was a married man now.

He was… free?

That thought didn't really make sense to him. He folded his arms across his chest and sat back in his desk chair, lips straightened into a line. He was married. He was living in a house that was all his own. All the property on his estate was his. He was in charge of his own life. He had a job and a chunk of fortune that could stretch the rest of his life. And he now lived in a separate country from his parents.

So…

The thought seemed dangerous and therefore alluring. What if Draco Malfoy decided he didn't WANT to go to dinner that night? What if Draco Malfoy decided he didn't WANT to bring the wife by his parents' house? She was hardly a wife, anyway – more like a roommate.

What if… Draco Malfoy had decided he wasn't going to be controlled anymore?

He stood up abruptly and almost knocked the chair onto the ground behind him. He could live here, in exile from his family. He wouldn't really miss any of them, anyway. And the people that mattered might still come to visit, even if his parents disowned him.

He sat back down. If only it were that simple.

If he tried to cut ties from his parents – more specifically his father – it would break his mother's heart. If there was anyone in the world Draco Malfoy could love, it was his mother; For all her faults, he just could not do that to her. His father, though: Lucius was not beyond the Imperius Curse, he was sure, even with the Ministry of Magic tracking his usage of magic. The Malfoy name was still strong enough so that Lucius could be able to hire someone to do it for him and cover it up well enough so that the Ministry would never know.

Draco peered at the book that was spread out in front of him. The page was opened on a chapter about Grenadian Thestral Hoof Enamel. It was important he read about it and yet, there wasn't anything he wanted to do less at that moment.

He rose again and walked to the window. The rain was still falling.

The leaves from the maple tree outside the window were dropping slowly into the brook that flowed by the West Wing of the house: A reminder that autumn would come soon. The leaves used the rain-pocked water as bedding, oblivious to the fact that the rain was beating down on them. They remained indifferent until the rain finally won, and the leaves disappeared under the water, drowning in their finality.

Draco re-focused his eyes to see a different image in the glass of the widow – himself; The rain outside became just a backdrop.

But was the image in the window really that different from the one outside it? The pale, frowning boy with the pointed nose was barely a man, and yet he had a look in his gray eyes… the reflection of a man who did not know who he was. Someone who had seen far more than his allotment of tragedies take place.

The finality of the leaves being beat upon by the rain and finally drowning in the brook… well, it wasn't so very different from Draco, after all. They were both doomed to a lifetime of being held down and smothered.

Feeling rebellious, Draco tore out of the room and changed into his riding gear. He didn't care if he was going to catch cold, or be late for dinner, or shirk his duties – his mind was far from easy, and something in the pit of his stomach, even as he arrived at the stables, told him something bad was going to happen soon.

.

Author's Note: As you may or may not have noticed, I deleted the original fanfic to this story. I will soon be changing the title of THIS fic to "Summer's Surprises" sans the "Redo" part. I feel the need to thank everyone for the 1,124 reviews I got for that fic, though. So thanks!

Thanks also to , sureynot, spikeecat, tfobmv18, MyLookOfDenial., gitgit, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, AerintheWhiteKnight, InvisibleLilacNights, ebbe04, -Arria Rose-, brooklynsam3, and GoodCharlotte615 for the reviews! I actually was pretty excited when I saw I got so many.

Sorry for the wait in updating! I'm trying, really! Things have just been really crazy lately. But as promised, I added more of everyone's favorite Slytherin. A whole chapter of just Draco! Hooray.

AerintheWhiteKnight - I'm sorry to hear that. Well, not sorry that you thought the last chapter was well-written, but sorry it was awkward for you. My parents went through a split when I was younger... but they weren't that way. They were more like... duck or something might get thrown at your head. Hah.


	30. When it Rains, it Pours

Chapter Twenty-Nine

They went to dinner, after all.

Draco did not ask Hermione to come with him – he sent a house elf to give her a note when she got home. She had no protests, though: She appeared at the foot of the staircase in a fashionable, black and white pinstriped dress at 15 minutes 'til six, just as he'd told her. She said nothing to him, merely gave him a look up and down at his outfit, silently approving, and nodded to the fireplace.

They Floo'd to Malfoy Mansion slightly early, just as Draco's mother had always taught him to do.

Narcissa met them in the entrance hall. She looked her son up and down, just as Hermione had done, and approved of his attire. A smile cracked across her face at Hermione's choice in dress, especially noting the subtle ruffle that went along her neckline with approval that went beyond acquiescence.

Lucius arrived slightly late to the dinner table, his face neutral, as if he did not have any guests at all. While an outsider might have felt uneasy with such cold mannerisms – as Hermione surely did – Draco felt himself right at home. In fact, having his father silent and withdrawn was the way he preferred him.

Hermione, on the other hand, had never thought in her wildest dreams that she would be in such an awkward predicament. Before the summer, the last time she had been so close to Lucius Malfoy, the same Manor they were having dinner in at that very moment was being used as Voldemort's base…

The thought seemed to foreign and strange now. As if last year had been a dream – but it wasn't.

Draco, too, was lost in his own thoughts. Dinner that night was Cornish hens: One of his favorites. Yet, he seemed to have lost all appetite. He picked at his food, occasionally taking a bite without tasting anything.

He took a long drink of his wine, gazing into the glass – mesmerized by the deep red. He drained most of the cup and the burgundy color with it, leaving behind a rose-colored liquid that was at first pleasing to the eye.

He longer he gazed into the glass of wine, the easier it became to remember; The rose-tinted wine seemed to move in the glass, like flames. The flames twisted themselves into serpents and chimeras and other dark beasts – Fiendfyre.

The Room of Lost Things came to memory… he could see vividly, as though it was happening at that very moment, the fire licking and devouring the many lost items that Hogwarts had collected over the years. Potter was grabbing the diadem off the bust with the wig as though it were something precious – perhaps it was, Draco had never found out. Crabbe had been lost in that fire; Draco remembered being remorseful. He and Goyle hadn't talked since that day: Perhaps it was some unknown and unspoken agreement.

And suddenly, Draco felt ashamed.

He remembered Potter swooping back on the broomsticks to grab him – to save his life after he'd tried to thwart him. Hermione had been on the back of the broomstick with Weasley that day – still a couple, as he had been positive they would have remained.

He did not speak for the rest of the meal and could not look at Hermione, even if he'd wanted to.

Narcissa pulled Hermione aside at the end of the meal, linking her arm through her daughter-in-law's like they were good chums and that one had not tried to kill the other the previous year. Hermione noticed the Malfoys still hadn't purchased a new chandelier.

"Sit down, dear – we won't be overheard here," Narcissa offered, gesturing to a stiff-looking armchair with a gaudy print.

Hermione doubted her mother-in-law's words, but figured she might as well listen to what the woman had to say.

"I think I just need to come straight to the point," Narcissa decided. "I wanted to apologize."

Hermione was taken aback – not only was this the last thing she had expected, but… how unlike a Malfoy!

"Yes," Narcissa agreed, noting Hermione's astonished expression, "I know. A Malfoy does not apologize. Or DID not. Things have changed since then, however. You won't see me walking around and befriending Muggles – but I think it is time we purebloods learned a little humility."

Hermione, still astonished, was not completely convinced, despite the sincere expression on Narcissa's face.

"I believe we got off to the wrong start," Narcissa continued, possibly noticing Hermione's incredulity, "with that Fenrir Greyback business over a year ago. I see now the… error of my ways. Even if it is hard to admit mistakes – I know one was made. Had I known you would eventually become my daughter-in-law…" Narcissa shuddered.

In the back of Hermione's mind, she felt still a little sick to her stomach. As Narcissa had put it, having Fenrir Greyback kill her would have been no big deal had she not been a pureblood – and set to marry her son. Hermione wondered how much of the prophecy Lucius had shared with his wife… and if all of it wasn't just a big performance.

She decided to make a bold move.

"Let me ask you something. Does this apology have anything to do with the prophecy?"

Narcissa blinked a few times in what appeared to be very real confusion. "Prophecy? Which?"

"The one that says it's going to rain and snow until your son and I conceive a child with 'the mark of destiny on it's face'," Hermione answered matter-of-factly, carefully observing Narcissa's reaction.

The older woman thought a minute, seeming to reach within the depths of her mind, finally coming up empty-handed. "Are there some other terms to this prophecy?" she queried politely.

Hermione was floored: It seemed Narcissa knew nothing about her husband's plans...

.

.

Meanwhile, Draco was sitting in a very similar armchair to the one Hermione had seated herself in; Gaudy, uncomfortable and back-achingly stiff. It did not concern him much, however – he was focused solely on his father, whose back was to his son in one of the family libraries.

"How are you finding the mansion, Draco?" Lucius questioned, still not facing his son.

"Grand," Draco answered monosyllabically.

Lucius turned, "You know it was your grandfather's."

"I do know."

"The grandfather whom you were partially named for…"

"There is another reason you've brought me here."

Lucius eyed his son, as if measuring him up.

"'Six months of rain, six months of snow… the world will slowly begin to flood until the child has been conceived with the mark of destiny upon its face'," Draco quoted, watching is father expectantly, trying very hard to make his countenance seem as relaxed as possible; It was important Lucius did not know he was tense.

Lucius smirked, "I can't get much past you anymore, my son." Draco was silent; Lucius paced. "Indeed, that IS why I asked you here." Lucius gestured to the library window where outside, it was pouring rain, "This is not the kind of weather I anticipate seeing for much longer. Do you understand me?"

"There's more to it, even if you don't want to talk about it," Draco replied, keeping his cool. "You might have succeeded in marrying me off to my former childhood enemy – but there is no way in hell I am ever going to sleep with her."

Draco rose from his seat. He had stopped growing a year or so ago, about two or three inches shorter than Lucius – it had never bothered him before, but in this moment, Draco dearly wished he had at least an inch on his father. He wanted to look DOWN to Lucius, in that moment.

Lucius's expression did not change: He stared at his son with something akin to indifference.

"You remember when the Dark Lord fell and all I wanted to do was be sure of your safety?"

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"I wish only to look out for your best interests, Draco."

"Forgive me if I perceive that to be a bit of a stretch."

Lucius did not reply for a long while. Draco slowly made his way over to the library desk, where three books were lying open, two about the art of necromancy and one about the brewing of a complex potion Draco was not familiar with. He quickly memorized the title, knowing he probably had a book back home about it.

Back home… it sounded so pleasant just then.

"I wish to speak to you and your wife, together," Lucius said abruptly.

"You know you're going to do whatever you want, anyway."

Lucius looked at his son as though he hadn't just been insulted by his own kin. He threw some Floo powder into the fireplace and called on Hermione and Narcissa, stating his purposes. Draco could hear reservations in his mother's reply and vaguely wondered what the two women had been talking about.

Hermione appeared in the library moments later, smoothing out her dress and brushing soot off her arm.

"Have a seat," Lucius offered Hermione, gesturing to a slightly more comfortable-looking chair.

Draco did not trust the look on his face.

.

.

Author's Note: Alright! Finally, we can start speeding things up a bit!

As usual, thanks a ton to MyLookOfDenial., AerintheWhiteKnight, ebbe04, tfobmv18, margaritama, phlowergirl, gitgit, sureynot, InvisibleLilacNights, and RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder for the reviews!

margaritama - Well, Draco and Hermione are an interesting pair. I do love them so very much, and out of respect for their characters, things just naturally need to move slowly. But don't worry. I did a poll earlier in this fic and it seems everyone wants a happy ending for our duo. So happy it shall be!


	31. Things to Contemplate

Chapter Thirty

"You are planning to return to school?" Lucius queried, turning to Hermione. He was overly polite – something that worried Draco.

Hermione nodded without saying a word.

"I heard you'd been offered a very good position at the Ministry."

He was making small talk before he delivered the blow, Hermione could tell. She merely responded, "Yes, but it wasn't what I wished to do. I thought it best to finish up with academics first."

"You intend to keep a job?" Lucius said aloud with a frown.

Hermione straightened her countenance and made sure her chin was high enough up to look haughty, "Yes."

"Working women are a sign of poverty. A Malfoy woman does not work."

"This one does."

Draco's head shot up, his piercing eyes boring a hole into Hermione's head. A thin veil of courage washed over him; If SHE could stand up to Lucius… together, they might be able to present a barricaded front.

Lucius seemed to notice the change that overcame his son, "Draco, you are so easily influenced. How very childish to take a stand only when a woman comes to your aid."

Draco's jawline hardened and his cheeks tinged pink. But no, he was done hiding behind skirts – his father was right.

He took long strides as he crossed the room toward the armchair Hermione was seated in. He stood by the left arm, as etiquette called for in such a situation, and stood up as straight as possible, eyes fixed on Lucius. There were no words that needed to be said.

Hermione glanced up at him briefly, but to Draco's eternal pride, she remained seated, her gaze steadily locked on Lucius. In that moment, they were united – a team of two.

Lucius's eyes narrowed, "I want something to be very clear." He faced Hermione directly as he spoke, barely acknowledging his son's existence, "If you are not pregnant by the end of October, the world will drown. The rain gets worse every day. Parts of the world will soon be underwater and indeed, deserts and wetlands have already been thrown into turmoil. People are dying – the rainforests are overflowing. Whole species will be dead by the close of the week. Let me ask you this – will you have their lives forfeit because you simply refuse to conceive with your husband? You're a selfish, little girl."

Draco could feel Hermione falter beside him; Her confidence was shaken, he knew. He put a hand on her shoulder and addressed his father directly, "You know perfectly well you don't give a rat's ass about the rest of the world. You only care about yourself."

"Fine words to speak to the man who raised you," Lucius spat.

Draco ground his teeth; A noise like a growl escaped his lips.

"I will leave you," Lucius concluded, a smirk playing about his lips, "to think about what you're doing."

He did leave, and peacefully, but for his last comment. As soon as he was gone, Hermione dissolved; Her head fell into her hands as though her neck no longer had the ability to control itself. She was shaking violently – although not crying, of which Draco was immensely relieved. All the same, he had no idea how to handle the situation – he took a step back to give her space.

He had no idea how she was feeling at that moment; Although given her personality, and that she was a Gryffindor, he wouldn't have been surprised to know she really WAS upset about the people and animals that could possibly perish because of her.

After ten minutes of internal self-depreciation, Hermione finally stood up: "Shall we go home, then?"

Draco merely nodded – she was a very complicated and intense person, he decided. They both disapparated home, into separate rooms.

.

.

Hermione awoke the next morning to a peal of thunder that seemed to shake the whole manor. She sat bolt upright, grabbing her wand from the bedstand in split-seconds and pointing it directly at the door. She immediately felt stupid; There was no one there - the mansion was even hidden from most prying eyes with a plethora of old magic spells.

Sitting back in the bed, she let her brain catch up with her beating heart. The headboard was not very comfortable to rest on, but at that moment, she felt more tired than ever. Dreams had plagued her sleep and while she had not actually woken up all night, she felt also as though she had not got a wink of sleep. With a long sigh, she adjusted her sitting position so as to make it more comfortable. It didn't work, and she resigned herself to the discomfort of sitting up in bed. She dozed.

A tapping on the window made her gasp and whirl around, wand pointed directly there. But it was only Dizzy, soaking wet, with a letter clamped firmly in his beak.

She climbed swiftly out of the bed and opened the old window, which creaked as it swung outward to allow the owl entrance. Dizzy flopped into the room, dropping the sopping letter on the desk Draco had been sitting in the previous morning, and shaking himself off in the corner of the room.

Hermione noticed she was alone again that morning - just as she had suspected; She wondered where Draco slept, as he clearly had no intention of ever sleeping in their bed.

Hermione ripped the letter open and to her surprise, it was from Narcissa, merely stating she was dropping by later that night by herself – and that there was something she wanted to talk to her about.

How like a Malfoy… Narcissa had never asked if she was busy at all! Not that Hermione really had any plans: Mostly she was going to look over her textbooks before school started in order to get an idea as to what she was up for. It was bound to be an interesting year, as she would be lumped together with Ginny's class.

Feeling disgruntled, Hermione flopped back onto the bed. Dizzy, who was done drying himself off, flapped lovingly over to her, affectionately nibbling her big toe. Hermione stroked his feathers absentmindedly.

Narcissa was alright, she supposed… but Hermione, at that moment, only wanted to speak with one woman: her mother.

She sat up in the bed, looking straight ahead into a huge mirror mounted on the wall, not really seeing herself. It wasn't that she couldn't remember her parents… it was just… she was having a hard time remembering the details of their faces. Did her father have wrinkles around his eyes? Or was she just imagining them there because Mr. Weasley had them?

A second owl tapped its talon the window impatiently. Hermione scrambled out of bed to let the poor creature in; It ruffled its feathers to rid itself of the moisture and then, despairing to go back outside, joined Dizzy at his perch on the footboard of the bed.

Hermione took the letter from the owl, looking at the two of them sitting there with some amusement. She had never gotten so much mail at one time before! If another were to come... why, she'd soon have a parliament of owls!

The letter was from Ginny, asking Hermione to visit – they were babysitting Teddy Lupin that night.

The idea that Ginny and Harry were babysitting Teddy Lupin together that night sent Hermione into a well of despair. How like a family they were: So happy and dedicated to one another! Hermione knew Harry had finally finished rebuilding his parents' old house in Godric's Hollow. She could remember the look on his face, the determination, when they'd visited the place last winter. She knew his intentions before he'd ever voiced them. And now it was done. And Harry and Ginny had moved in together: A happy couple. They were taking care of Teddy Lupin, like their own child: A happy couple.

Could she go there without resentment? Could she truly be glad to see them so happy and so like a family, when she herself was so miserable and her family so broken?

She wanted to give Dora a good, long hug in that moment. WHY had she ever offended the woman? Why had she been so stubborn? She missed that peppermint smell more than anything right then, except perhaps her own two parents, lying cold under the ground somewhere.

With a longing beyond words, Hermione set Ginny's letter by Narcissa's. She would have to see the elder Mrs. Malfoy before she did anything. Although dreading seeing ANY Malfoy whatsoever at the moment, Hermione did wonder if Narcissa's letter had anything to do with the prophecy – a prophecy which Hermione had been surprised to find, the older woman had no clue existed.

Checking the time and figuring she had a few hours to kill before Draco's mother arrived, Hermione pulled on her riding gear and disapparated into the stables, determined to go for a long-overdue ride with Zephyr, despite the rain and pealing thunder.

.

.

Author's Note: Thanks loads to MyLookOfDenial., tfobmv18, X Games Winter Snowboardess 94, Shaiya Star-Gazer, -Arria Rose-, gitgit, ebbe04, margaritama, and InvisibleLilacNights for the reviews! I mean that really, because it's really truly awesome to have you guys reading and offering your input after every chapter. Cookies (or tacos, whichever you prefer) for everyone! Thanks, guys.

Shaiya Star-Gazer - I figure you know this is you, even if I didn't put the X's in front of your screen name. I think two chapters ago I tried to do that and it didn't show up once it'd posted. So yeah. lol

Holy crap, we're at 30 chapters!


	32. Everything Will Be Okay

Chapter Thirty-One

Narcissa arrived at 3 o'clock sharp that afternoon, just as Hermione was coming inside from her ride. Hermione was horrified; She was wearing informal riding clothing, smelled like horse and was dripping wet from head to toe, leaving small puddles wherever she stood for too long.

She murmured the best apologies she could summon, "Please make yourself at home. I'll be only a moment – to change my clothes. I can't apologize enough for…"

"Don't worry about it," Narcissa insisted, waving her daughter-in-law's worries away. Hermione noticed she looked very uneasy about something. "I can only be a few minutes – it is very important Lucius does not know I am here, do you understand?"

Aha, Hermione thought, so she's here against the knowledge of her husband. Ignoring the small pond she was creating by her feet, Hermione nodded vigorously. "What…?"

"Where is my son?"

"I've no idea," Hermione answered truthfully – she hadn't seen Draco all day.

Narcissa tapped the inside of her wrist on her left hand, "Draco. Draco, please come here immediately."

Hermione stared at the woman: Had she gone mad? Tapping her wrist?

"Mother?" the voice echoed into the entrance hall from the top of the right staircase where, sure enough, Draco stood with a book in between his hands. "What are you doing here?"

"Come here quickly, my son," Narcissa requested.

Hermione was astounded - how had they communicated like that? It would be something to study in the next few days, that was for sure.

Draco came down the stairs a little jauntily, as though he had some secret knowledge no one else knew. Hermione noticed he was wearing all black; It made his pale skin even milkier, giving him a subtly cadaver-ish look. He looked Hermione up and down with something like embarrassment at her attire; She looked down at the floor, where a new puddle was beginning to steadily drip from her pants, pooling around the mud she was tracking in with her sodden boots. She, too was ashamed at the mess she was creating.

"Your father doesn't know I'm here, so I must be quick so he does not notice I've gone," Narcissa relayed in a breathy voice. She knew she was doing something her husband wouldn't like, and so she was anxious. Hermione didn't blame her – had SHE been married to Lucius, she would have… well…

"What's this about?" Draco inquired. It was interesting – Hermione could tell he loved his mother, just from the way he looked at her.

A momma's boy. Of course.

"Let's go somewhere private. The next room will do," Narcissa requested. Her wish was granted and once the three entered the room, Narcissa immediately began putting secrecy charms on the room. Hermione set about drying herself off with her wand, still self-conscious in her less-than-visitor-worthy attire. Dora would have been horrified.

Once she was convinced they would not be overheard, Narcissa whirled around and announced with confidence, "I've found a solution to the prophecy."

Draco made a noise of outrage, "How do you even KNOW about that? You were supposed to remain unaware!"

"Your wife told me," Narcissa answered matter-of-factly.

Draco shot her a look that clearly meant he intended to reprimand her. Hermione ignored him.

"There is no immediate solution," Hermione replied, being sure to keep the dejectedness from her voice. "I've looked through every book, looked up every spell… there isn't a single one that can rearrange a prophecy of that magnitude, it's…"

"I never said anything about rearranging a prophecy," Narcissa interrupted, "but I do have a way to fix your problem."

Hermione and Draco both fell silent, refusing to look at one another.

"There's a spell…" Narcissa began. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Narcissa stopped her with, "…that doesn't appear in any spell books. Pureblood couples made it up back in the 1100s when arranged marriages were becoming more and more popular, but with less and less regard to how the couple felt about the union."

"There's… a way out?" Draco murmured. Hermione couldn't help but be slightly hurt at the hopefulness in his voice. Was she really all THAT bad?

"I'm afraid not, especially not since the document was signed in binding ink. Even a divorce is out of the question."

Draco's face didn't change; Hermione had the feeling he'd already been expecting that answer.

"But there IS a way out of the heir situation."

Hermione tinged pink; Draco kept a straight face.

Narcissa continued, "There's a spell that will plant a child inside of you to grow, without engaging in the… animalistic activity that normally is the cause."

Even Draco was blushing now.

"I don't want to be a mother!" Hermione burst out. "I haven't even had sex before!"

Narcissa looked her daughter-in-law up and down, clearly not believing her one ounce. "Well if you don't want to do it, then fine. I was just trying to help. Stay that way. It will just keep raining and Lucius will just keep threatening you until the whole world floods us out."

Draco was watching Hermione very carefully, observing the inner turmoil. He had no desire to be a father, either – but what his mother was offering… was an opportunity to stop the world from ending, without having to have sex with Hermione. While the situation still wasn't very desirable, it was certainly a good compromise to him.

"But… would it… be mine? That seems like a pretty important part of the prophecy to me," Draco queried.

Narcissa nodded, then checked the time. "The spell takes DNA from both people and mixes them appropriately, as if it had been natural. But as it seems your wife has no intent whatsoever of going through with it, I'd better be on my way. If your father notices I was here…"

"I'll do it," Hermione exploded, oblivious to the fact that she was dripping on the floor again.

Draco stared at her. Narcissa smiled, "I was hoping you would."

"I don't want it. I know I'm not ready," Hermione clarified, a frown on her face, "but I don't want anyone to die because I'm unwilling."

How like a Gryffindor, Draco thought to himself.

"Alright, quickly then," Narcissa ordered, taking her son's arm and practically dragging him across the room. "Take her hand."

Draco did so without complaint, although he didn't care for it all the same. Her hand was warm; His was cold – it only highlighted their inherent differences, right down to the warmth of their very blood. Snakes and lions had never made good lovers…

.

.

Unable and unwilling to spend the evening even in the same house as Draco, Hermione showered and changed her clothes immediately after Narcissa left and took off for Godric's Hollow.

Harry and Ginny were inside, with Bill and Fleur – something Hermione hadn't been expecting. To make matters worse, Fleur was showing off a very telling bump on her stomach, while Ginny was feeding Teddy Lupin from a bottle. Hermione instantly felt like a wretched piece of dirt as she entered the room, putting on a great show to smile and greet everyone warmly.

"'Ow good eet eez to see you!" Fleur exclaimed. Hermione and Fleur had never been close, but things had changed dramatically since the war, with everyone. "And under much better circumstances zan before, I theenk."

Hermione didn't agree completely, but kept that thought to herself – it was a selfish thought, after all. Of course they were better circumstances! It was only she who was miserable now...

"They sure are," she agreed aloud, greeting Fleur with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

"Good to see you, Hermione," Harry said smilingly, crossing the room to pull his friend into a much-needed hug. Hermione was reminded again of how well Harry knew her that he held her a little longer than was necessarily; She was reluctant to let him go, but soon joined Ginny on the couch.

Bill and Fleur did not stay long – as Bill had put it, they were just going around to all the family to tell them the news and wanted to make sure both Harry and Ginny heard it straight from them. After many more congratulations, the pair left to return to their home, at Shell Cottage.

Mostly likely to be alone in their bliss, Hermione thought crossly. She hated being bitter – and recognized that she was – which made her hate it even more. She glanced at her stomach with resentment. The weather had not let up yet, either.

Ginny handed Teddy over to Harry, who handled the child with more ease than Hermione had expected from him.

"I'm so glad you're here, Hermione," Ginny voiced honestly, pulling her friend into another much-needed hug. "Sit down. How are things?"

Hermione could see instantly how both her friends' faces changed from happiness for Bill and Fleur to wariness and pity for her. Hermione immediately felt out-of-place: Something she wasn't used to. She didn't WANT pity. She didn't want people to expect her to tell them horrible things about her life every time she came around, either.

In a split-second, she decided she wasn't going to tell them about the baby.

"Fine, actually," she answered bravely. "The house is lovely. Draco's almost never home – he and I stay out of each other's way… it's almost like just being in a great, big house by yourself. Kind of like wandering around Hogwarts at night, actually – you two would be right at home."

She'd made a joke; The tension immediately broke as Ginny and Harry laughed. Teddy gurgled happily.

"Want to hold him, Hermione?" Harry offered. "I've got pretty good at it now." He was extremely proud of himself.

"Sure," she agreed, holding out her arms to take the baby.

"He likes it when you tickle his chin," Ginny put in, gazing lovingly at little Teddy.

Hermione rested the little bundle in the crook of her arm, gazing down at the tiny face. Teddy smiled a little. Reaching one arm slowly down, Hermione tickled his chin, just as Ginny had said. Teddy laughed a high-pitched, gurgling laugh and his hair changed from a calm brunette into a bright aquamarine.

His eyes were wide and trusting, happy and warm. Hermione gazed into them deeply, feeling the easy trust, the perfect contentedness.

So this is what I'm in for, she thought. I can do this… I can...

.

.

Author's Note: Thanks bunches to MyLookOfDenial., -Arria Rose-, tfobmv18, margaritama, gitgit, pussycat06, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, Shaiya Star-Gazer, InvisibleLilacNights, and ebbe04 for the reviews! Cookies around for all!

So here's a challenge for all you readers: when you review, see if you can leave me one piece of constructive criticism! I want to know what you think my weak points are... and I want to make this fic completely in character and believable and satisfying. I'm really hoping you will... just don't be mean. Haha

Oh and just a heads-up, in early March, I'll be traveling for work so there will be a brief period of inactivity. I'll let you know again as the time gets closer.

Thanks!


	33. A World Turned Upside Down

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Herrrrrmmmmmiiiiooonnneeee?"

"Sorry, I must have dozed off a moment – what was it?"

Ginny stared at her friend carefully: Something was up – she could tell; But what, she wasn't sure. Deciding to blame it on Draco Malfoy, like everything else, Ginny brushed the incident aside.

"It wasn't important. All I asked was if you were excited to start school up again," Ginny answered, gently rocking baby Teddy in his bassinet with her hand. The child was fast asleep – and Hermione could not take her eyes off of him. The longer she watched him, the less sure of herself she felt.

"Oh, most definitely," Hermione answered, feigning a convincing smile and tearing her eyes away from the sleeping child. "I do wonder, though – what kind of state do you think the castle will be in?"

"I've heard there are going to be parts of it shut off. McGonagall's Headmistress, too – just like we thought. I'm not sure if they've found a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor yet, either. At least, the last I HEARD they hadn't. But that was a week ago…"

Hermione's mind floated out of the conversation again. Yes, school had always delighted her, and she dearly loved to learn… but right then, she could almost care less whether she ever went back to Hogwarts again.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed. Teddy woke up and began to cry. "Oh drat," Ginny cursed. "I'll be right back to calm this one down. Once he's asleep again, you are going to tell me EXACTLY what is on your mind."

Hermione took Ginny's threat very seriously. As soon as the redhead had left the room, she began to wrack her mind for something… a lie. Anything but the truth would suffice.

How very Slytherin of me, she thought.

How fitting then. The newest Mrs. Malfoy WAS developing some snake-like qualities, after all…

Hermione felt her stomach twist into a knot and her mind immediately jumped to the baby supposedly growing inside her. She knew it was far too early to tell if there really was any sign of life in there (a peal of thunder from outside only confirmed this notion) – but all the same, she because visibly more nervous.

Ginny returned fifteen minutes later, without the baby. "Talk," she ordered.

"I miss my grandmother," Hermione replied almost instantly. It was true – though it wasn't what was bothering her the most. "I think I really offended her, Gin. She never even said good-bye to me."

Ginny frowned, almost as though she could see the lie, but didn't think Hermione capable of such a thing. Hermione felt like dirt. "If I know my Great Aunt Dora," Ginny murmured, "she'll forgive you for nearly anything. I mean, most of the other purebloods viewed us Weasleys as all blood-traitors – but Aunt Dora never stopped talking to Mum. She even came to Fred's funeral…"

An uneasy silence enveloped the pair: Fred's death was still an uncomfortable thing. It was so fresh in mind. Hermione had gone, of course – she could still see the long coffin, draped in black being lowered into the ground. George had set off the last of the fireworks he and Fred had created together and stayed longer than everyone else.

Ginny bit her lip, "I know you've been miserable, Hermione, but…"

"Don't say it," Hermione pleaded, already knowing: Ginny was going to tell her how miserable everyone still was. Hermione pulled Ginny into a hug, feeling wretched. So that was what everyone thought of her now: The most afflicted in a time of lingering misery. The hug was bittersweet; She was giving comfort, when comfort was the one thing she, herself wanted the most at that moment.

"Oh, 'Mione," Ginny sighed, "whatever happened to the world?" Tears hinted the corners of her eyes.

Hermione couldn't answer – she was unsure if there was one to give.

.

.

When Hermione arrived home that night, she was utterly exhausted. Resolving not to even speak so much as a word to Draco, provided she saw him at all, she apparated directly into the bedroom, desiring nothing but a nice hot shower and bed.

A house elf was in the room, tidying up, and immediately bowed and left: They had learned very quickly that Hermione didn't really want to see them. They, too were wary of her, and suspicious of the fact that she'd offered them all clothes.

The armchair in front of the desk spun around to face her, a surprised Draco seated there.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

Hermione snorted, unable to help it: They were married and expecting, and he STILL wanted to know what on earth she was doing in their house! What a guy…

"I've just got back from Harry and Ginny's," she answered tersely, realizing she'd just botched her plan not to speak to him.

"Oh," he answered simply. "They're living together now?"

The question caught Hermione off guard, most likely because it was so un-Draco-like. "Yeah, I guess so. I mean, they're acting as guardians to Teddy…"

"Who?"

Hermione was painfully reminded of how little Draco actually knew about her life. "Teddy Lupin," she explained with a pained expression, "his parents were killed."

"Lupin," Draco repeated, "as in, that professor who taught us in third year? Wasn't he a werewolf?"

"Yeah," Hermione answered curtly, "he was. And a very good man."

"I didn't know he had a kid."

"Yes."

There was a long silence. Hermione went to collect her things for a shower, when Draco spoke again, "Do you resent me?"

The question caught her so by-surprise that she paused and looked up at him, "What?"

"Nothing," he answered, "don't worry about it."

Hermione stared at him, "Do I resent you…?" She'd never thought about it before, but she most likely did. "I suppose I do. Do you resent me?"

"I do," he replied, looking away from her. Hermione couldn't see Draco's face, but she had an odd suspicion that he was crying. When he looked up however, his face was dry and stony. "I told my father you were pregnant." Draco seemed to wince as he said the word 'pregnant', as if it caused him physical pain.

"I bet he was pleased."

"I guess so."

"School term starts in two days," Hermione announced.

"I'm probably not going," Draco answered.

Hermione found that she didn't even care at his statement. In fact, she was somewhat relieved at it. "I'm not fancying going back to school pregnant."

Draco winced again, but said nothing. A minute-long silence filled the room from wall to wall. It seemed an eternity before Hermione broke the quiet.

"How did you and your mother communicate yesterday?" she wheedled. "She just touched her wrist and called your name, and you were there."

"It's a pureblood thing," he explained. "We're bound by our blood. Did you think that whole business about being better than everyone else was just for show?"

"Interesting. So you admit you were a pompous asshole?"

Draco seemed taken aback. "Will you admit that you're fight-mongering?"

She didn't reply and pursed her lips, grabbing all her things for a shower and storming into the next room, leaving Draco alone – and extremely glad for it.

"What could she be mad about, anyway?" he asked himself. After all, she was living in a comfortable home, she was a pureblood, she was married, and he wasn't a controlling bastard like his father. In fact, he left her alone half the time, to her own business.

Sure, she was pregnant. But they'd never had sex before, and she could always use a concealment charm to hide her condition from her fellow students.

"Maybe she was telling the truth," he reasoned with himself. What if Hermione had, in fact, truly been a virgin before the summer? The idea was foreign to him. Sure, HE hadn't gotten any since his sixth year, but he wasn't worthy of virgin status by any means, either.

But if she had been… if she really HAD been… well, that just made that Muggle who raped her even more of an asshole.

And really, who would she have HAD sex with? Weasley? The thought made him sick a little. But then… he remembered the Yule Ball in their fourth year. She went with Victor Krum. VICTOR KRUM! An international Quidditch player, ridiculously renowned across the world! How had she even scored him in the first place...?

But still, if she was telling the truth – she was pregnant now without ever having experienced sex before… he supposed he could see why she was upset, after all.

.

.

Author's Note: Thanks loads to InvisibleLilacNights, gitgit, margaritama, Shaiya Star-Gazer, CherryKatt202, tfobmv18, MyLookOfDenial., sureynot, Joe-nasGirl, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, and Liz for the reviews! And extra thanks to those who left constructive criticism - I got more than I thought I did. It was interesting, though... no one's criticism overlapped! How strange. I suppose that kind of thing IS altered a bit by individual preference, but I did get some very valid pointers. Thanks to everyone for those! If you feel there are any more points you'd like to make, drop me a review or a message. I love them.

sureynot - Yes, Hermione and Draco DO end up together in this fic. It doesn't seem like it yet, but I promise things are as happy as is possible for this couple once everything is over and done with.

RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder - Possibly I did rush the spell. I guess I just don't consider it that important of a part in the story, but... that's only because I know what happens next! ^_^ Thanks for letting me know your opinion. I'll put a few more details in for ya.


	34. I Think I Understand You Now

Chapter Thirty-Three

Hermione peeked out from behind the bathroom door. Seeing that Draco was still seated at the big desk, she closed the door shut again and changed into her pajamas in the privacy of the bathroom before emerging.

Draco looked up from his work briefly, noting that she was wearing extremely conservative nightclothes. Thinking it was very typical of her, he turned away, back to the paperwork he was reading.

Hermione didn't say anything to him, but climbed into bed with one of the books she'd been assigned for class. The rain was drizzling outside.

"Thunder's stopped," Draco remarked.

Hermione looked up at him from over her book, throwing him the dirtiest look she could manage – which he never saw, because he'd never turned around to address her properly.

She said nothing, continuing through her book. It was her last year: She would do better than ever. Getting raped, orphaned, and married off was never going to squash that part of her, she had determined. It would have overcome any lesser person – but not Hermione Jane Granger!

Well, Hermione Jane Malfoy. But that never sounded as good.

"Looks like I have to finish school, after all. They won't give me the job otherwise," Draco continued.

Hermione realized he was attempting to make conversation. What his motives were, she couldn't be sure; She, however, had nothing to say to him at that moment. She turned back to her Arithmancy book – it would be what she was pursuing after Hogwarts, so she had determined to be extra diligent in that subject.

"My father will be visiting tomorrow afternoon for lunch," Draco continued. He didn't seem to care that she wasn't responding; Perhaps he preferred it that way.

The comment caught Hermione's interest and she grudgingly replied, "Why?"

He half-turned to look at her, but realized halfway through the movement of doing so that he didn't really want to look at her. "I haven't the slightest."

"I'll be sure to make myself scarce," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose a little bit. She stopped quickly though – probably news like that would be common… and maybe that's what made Narcissa appear to have some incredible stench in her presence all the time. Maybe her nose was permanently wrinkled from bad news… what a horrid prospect.

Draco paused a moment, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"How unfortunate." Hermione had decided she was taking no prisoners when it came to Lucius Malfoy. He had already ruined enough of her life. But someday, she was going to learn how to be happy. Draco had said he was getting an ambassador's job soon – that would mean he wouldn't be home often, which would mean more time to herself. The more time to herself she had, the better.

"It's rude," Draco protested.

"So is your father. He's already ruined my life enough: I don't need to see him on a regular basis."

"He's ruined mine more than yours."

"At least you're not pregnant."

"At least you're not dead."

"Is that a threat?"

Draco spun around, his gray eyes blazing, "It's not a threat, it is REALITY!" he exclaimed.

Cold gray eyes met soft, brown ones, interlocking for the first time, probably in the entirety of their lives.

Draco saw everything there: Anger, pain, squashed dreams, and the courage to continue on. In that moment, he knew she would, too – no matter what happened to Hermione, her spirit would never be broken. She had lost so much in the past months… family… freedom… nearly everything. Everything, but for her spirit. He remembered those eyes, glassy and staring up at the trees, not seeing. The woods that day, he could remember her there – alone, ravaged… violated in the most inhuman way possible. But those eyes were different now. They were not helpless, like the dead eyes he'd seen before.

All at once, he wondered what he had been scared to see in her eyes before, why he could never meet those hauntingly beautiful brown orbs. There was nothing frightening to see there: She was all courage – she was, in every sense of the word, a lion on the inside.

Hermione looked into the depths of Draco's eyes, searching for something human to latch on to. It was a difficult task – looking into the eyes of someone who had seen her so vulnerable, against her will. Yes, he'd found her that day. Yes, she was grateful he'd gotten her cared for. And yes, she was happy he wasn't his father. But he was still that young man she'd slapped back in third year. He was still cruel. He was still arrogant. He was still... Draco Malfoy.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded, tearing her eyes away from his.

"Do what?" he snapped irritably.

"How did you – the rotten toerag who wanted to kill off Dumbledore – have enough compassion to want to make sure someone like me was safe?"

Draco stared at her as though she'd just sprouted a third head, "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"Why did you come looking for me in the forest?"

Draco was floored; She knew. How long had she known? And who had told her? "You were never supposed to know," he finally said.

"But WHY? Why did you do it?"

He chewed on his tongue for a good thirty seconds before answering. "Who told you?"

"Harry," she murmured quietly, eyes still rooted to the floor.

"Potter," Draco half-snarled. "He would."

But how had he found out? Draco mused. But, of course, it was Potter. Potter was the hero who'd saved the world: He'd almost forgotten. If Potter wanted something, Potter got it. If that something happened to be confidential information, well… he'd still get it. What a pain in the ass.

"Do you wish I hadn't?" Draco demanded.

"I do. I wish I had never seen you that day," she replied.

Again, Draco was struck speechless, though he hid it well. She RESENTED him! Resented him for SAVING her!

"You were never supposed to know."

"I wish I didn't."

There was another long silence.

"I could have left you to die that day."

"I wish you had."

Another silence.

"I'll keep that in mind for the next time you need saving, then," Draco announced coldly.

"I won't need saving."

"You're so sure."

"I am."

Silence.

"You're the one who said it," she finally murmured. "Death is reality."

"MY death is reality," he protested.

"What makes you think you're so much worse off than the rest of the world?" she growled, turning full circle to walk away in frustration, but changed her mind. She spun around again, furious: "I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual," Draco agreed.

"You ruined my life!"

"And you completed the death of what stunted, malnourished life I ever had."

"Yes, YOU'RE the victim here!" she shouted hysterically. "As if YOUR father wasn't the reason we're in this situation in the first place…!"

"I. AM. NOT. MY. FATHER!"

Hermione stared at Draco, stunned – somewhat frightened, even. Again, for the second time, their eyes met; This was probably the most frightening of the whole outburst for her – in his eyes, Hermione saw emotions swirling around like a maelstrom… malice, hate, hurt, and bitterness. It was such a change from the pair of cold, gray eyes that had previously held so little of anything.

Standing there, her hair still dripping a little from the shower, Hermione's mouth opened ever-so-slightly as her brown eyes became glued to the gray ones staring back at her.

"I think," she finally uttered, "I understand you a little better now… Draco."

Resentment manifested itself on his face, "I never wanted you to."

"I know."

His face relaxed. "But I think," he murmured quietly, "that I'm glad you do."

.

.

Author's Note: Bam! How's that a little better for moving forward in our romance?

Thank you to gitgit, tfobmv18, MyLookOfDenial., ebbe04, InvisibleLilacNights, and Joe-nasGirl for the reviews!! More things to be revealed soon. We're probably halfway done with this fic? I'm not sure yet, though - so take that with a grain of salt. I have three different directions I may take this fic in and I'm still contemplating a lot.

As always, constructive criticism is welcome. Rave reviews are nice too, though. Haha


	35. A Visit from Lucius

Chapter Thirty-Four

Hermione spent all of the following morning packing for Hogwarts. With only a day left until her last trip to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, she was surprised she wasn't feeling more anxious. In fact, she wasn't excited at all – she was mostly just feeling nervous. This last year would be so important… yet, how was she supposed to do it pregnant? School had been difficult enough WITHOUT the raging hormones that were sure to come. Besides that, she'd wracked her brains for anyone at Hogwarts who had ever been pregnant in school, and came up blank; The idea embarrassed her completely.

More importantly, though; She was going to have to tell Harry, Ron and Ginny at some point. Well, maybe not Ron – but she might as well, since Harry and Ginny probably couldn't keep a secret of that magnitude from him for very long. Hermione didn't even want to THINK of Ron's reaction when she told him she was pregnant with Draco's child… even if they HADN'T ever had sex…

She shook the thought from her head as she neatly packed the last of her robes and schoolbooks into her trunk. Instinctively, she touched her stomach gently. Although she knew the spell Narcissa had cast wouldn't be faulty, she still had a difficult time realizing the reality of the situation that there was life inside of her. She hadn't spent enough time with her own mother to be able to take on that role yet – she wasn't done growing, either.

Perhaps it would have been easier to accept there was a child inside her stomach if the rain had let up. At the moment, it was still steadily drizzling outside. The nearby lake was swollen with all the extra water from the past five days and seeping up the hillside. It was beautiful in its own way, but destructively so.

"What's on your mind?"

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the young man who'd just entered the room. She and Draco got on a little better, as if they'd signed some sort of unspoken treaty – though they still were far from friends.

"I'm just looking outside," she answered quietly. She was seated by the window in a parlor that looked like it hadn't been entered in years, "The rain hasn't let up."

Draco was silent, though his lack of reply spoke enough words for him. Hermione knew he was beginning to realize the enormity of the situation.

"Are you nervous?" Hermione whispered, not tearing her eyes away from the window.

She expected him to reply, "To what?" or maybe "Not me". But again, he was silent for a time before he whispered, "Yes."

"Me too," she admitted.

"I think there has been a mistake."

She turned. He was still looking out the window, not at her. "A mistake with what?"

"The spell."

She turned back to the window, "Your mother wouldn't have messed it up."

"No," he mused, "she wouldn't. But the rain hasn't stopped falling. I looked up some information in the library – you should be… well… you know… at this point…"

Hermione shook a little with repressed laughter at the thought of Draco looking through books on the reproductive system, bit the laughter passed quickly. "How long are you planning on entertaining your father?" she asked, changing the subject quickly.

"He'll only be here for an hour or so; That's why it's critical that you're here."

Hermione was disappointed: She knew he was right. In the short time she lived with Dora, she knew that her absence in a visit that was to only last an hour would be inexcusable to her new in-laws. "Just when I thought this day wouldn't be so bad, too…"

Draco snorted, which Hermione realized was his way of chuckling. Imagine – Draco Malfoy with a sense of humor! Who knew…?

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"Are you talking to Adrian?"

"I am."

"I thought you hated him...?"

"He's my brother."

"He is? He really is? He wasn't lying?"

"He is. Why do you ask?"

She smiled maliciously, "I just wonder what your father would say if you told him you knew…"

.

.

By the time Lucius arrived that evening, Hermione had completely transfigured the parlor. She was quite proud of it – she'd refused all help the house elves had offered, ignoring even their pleas to assist, or fetch her something to eat while she worked. It was now transformed into something resembling home much better.

Perhaps, she thought I can do this to the whole mansion: What a welcoming change that would be, rather than all this dreariness…

She had done away with all the dark colors, the dreary wallpaper, the uncomfortable chairs. The room now resembled her old living room more than anything: A comforting thought, but with painful emotions behind them.

Lucius insisted upon meeting in the main parlor; Hermione was glad, as she was feeling protective over her transfigured one. It was a connection to her old life – the last person she wanted to share her sanctuary with was Lucius Malfoy.

"I've heard the news," Lucius announced once they were all seated in the primary parlor. "For two people who were so resistant to any kind of relations, you seem to have decided fairly quickly to fuck like little rabbits."

Hermione stared at him incredulously. "How can you just SAY something so vulgar as that?"

Draco sunk back into his seat a little, not having anticipated an argument to break out.

"I may be free to speak my mind in front of my son and daughter-in-law."

Hermione huffed for a moment, "You are not any kind of father to me, besides what is written in law."

"I assure you I never intended to be anything else," Lucius answered, smirking.

There was a long silence in which Hermione glared at Lucius, who stared back, completely unconcerned. Draco finally found his voice, "What brings you here, father?"

Lucius turned for the first time to his son, "I merely wanted to discuss your news."

Hermione huffed again to herself.

"What about?" Draco queried, deciding to play it safe for the conversation.

"It has come to my attention," Lucius answered, gray eyes boring holes into the identical ones of his son, "that such marital relations could possibly not have taken place."

Draco stared at his father, sudden apprehension manifesting itself in the pit of his stomach, "What do you mean?"

Hermione was frozen in her seat: He knew about the spell. She KNEW he knew.

"You know very well what I'm talking about."

Lucius held up a wand, which Draco immediately recognized. Springing out of his chair, Draco took out his wand with one fluid motion and pointed directly at his father, "What did you do to her?"

Hermione stared at Draco, comprehending his meaning completely: Lucius was holding Narcissa's wand in his hand.

"Calm down, Draco. Your mother sits at home, happy and unaware I am discussing this with you."

Draco's eyes narrowed; He lowered his wand, but did not sit back down. "She knows you're here," he accused.

"Sit down."

"Tell me."

"Yes, she knows I am here. Sit down."

Draco sat.

"What do you want?" Hermione demanded.

"I want you to know the enormity of what you've done," Lucius answered, twirling his wife's wand in his fingers. "Piori Incantatem." A number of spells appeared, including a levitating spell, two or three transfigurations and charm required for a potion happened in backward sequence. A manifestation of a child sleeping arose from the tip of the wand and then vanished. Lucius uttered the countercurse and the wand stopped producing spells. "Well, that was quite telling, wasn't it?" he murmured silkily.

"So what?" Draco demanded, "you wanted a goddamn kid, you got one."

Lucius laughed quietly, the sound of it reverberating sinisterly around the room, "That's just the problem, Draco. Yes, your wife is successfully pregnant. Congratulations. But have you noticed the rain hasn't stopped?"

Hermione and Draco both accidentally glanced at one another, knowing exactly what was coming. Hermione gripped her wand tightly.

"No, the rain hasn't stopped," Lucius continued, "which means the prophecy has not been fulfilled. When are you going to learn that magic can never be substitute to something of this magnitude?"

Hermione stared hard at Lucius, pondering his next move.

"I think you should leave," Draco insisted, walking to the fireplace and gesturing to the pot of Floo Powder by the mantle. "This conversation is over."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, "I applaud your attempt to be assertive, but I'm not leaving just yet. Don't worry, I'll leave soon – I'm just not quite done here."

"I insist."

Lucius stared at his son; Hermione prepared her wand, just in case. Finally, it seemed Draco had won the stare-down because Lucius rose from his seat. "Very well."

He made his way over to the fireplace, as if to take the Floo Powder and leave. At the last second, he disapparated and reappeared behind Hermione, his wand pointed directly at her throat.

.

.

Author's Note: Ooh, suspense!

Thanks to MyLookOfDenial., tfobmv18, margaritama, sureynot, InvisibleLilacNights, gitgit, Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX, ebbe04, and RIPJameSiriusLupin for the reviews! I really appreciate them, especially since you guys have been around for quite a few chapters now. I hope it means I'm doing something right here!

There is also something else I wanted to address here. I've made a sticky note on my desktop with all the suggestions you guys made on how to improve this story. Yes, I'm still taking them into consideration! They've been very helpful. But someone mentioned they wanted longer chapters. Now, this is up to you guys... I can post longer chapters, but it would mean that it would take me longer to complete them. So instead of 5-6 days (I think that's my average between posts, right?), it'd be more like 9-10. What do you think?

My best to all of you!

-Kyra


	36. A Threat To Take Seriously

Chapter Thirty-Five

Draco stood frozen by the fireplace. He was unsure of what to do: protect his wife… or save his own backside. He hated it when his father got out of control – he'd never done it much during Draco's childhood… it was a violence that seemed to have developed with levels of high insecurity during the last few years.

"You thought you could trick me," Lucius snarled, grabbing a fistful of Hermione's hair and pulling her head back against the chair, wand still pointed to her throat. "How dare you even try? I raised you – you are my heir… and you try to deceive me with a rubbish spell?"

Draco said nothing; He was staring at the place on Hermione's neck where the wand was making contact until a tiny movement caught his eye by Hermione's hand – her wand was grasped there, ready for action. Satisfaction and something akin to pride slithered into his heart for a moment with the realization that she was prepared to take care of herself.

"Perhaps if you'd never tried to force us to get along in the first place, we wouldn't be in this situation right now," Draco stalled, keeping his voice calm and collected.

"Perhaps if you did your DUTY to your family and properly slept with her, we wouldn't be in this situation!" Lucius snarled.

"I see – my family duty requires only for me to procreate," Draco commented musingly.

There was a bang, and for a split second Draco wasn't sure as to whether it was his father or Hermione who'd created it. After a few seconds, it became apparent that Hermione had decided to defend herself. She stood upright, her wand now pointed directly at Lucius, who had been blown against the far wall.

"There is more to me than a set of ovaries!" she cried, eyes blazing.

Lucius straightened his hair in an attempt to appear unconcerned, although he was still backed against the wall.

"If you don't mind, father," Draco put in, crossing the room, his wand also outstretched, "I think we're going to take all the necessary steps to ban you from entering our property."

"Outrageous, Draco," Lucius muttered, staring at his son accusingly, "this house was a gift from your mother and I."

"I've had enough of your gifts and charities," Hermione sneered.

"Such filial disrespect," Lucius tutted, continuing to straighten his mussed hair and clothing. "It's not something I had expected from you, Draco."

"You're picking on me because you think I'll be easier to cave in," Draco observed, wand still directed toward his father, "but you've forgotten the strength and will of a life of oppression."

"One would think Azkaban would have straightened that out a little," Hermione added.

"Yes, perhaps," Lucius mused, still feigning careless abandonment. "But YOU'VE also forgotten something..."

"And what's that?"

In less than another split second, Lucius was behind them – it was a trick he'd learned from being up so high in Voldemort's inner circle. Hermione's and Draco's wands were both in his hands.

He smirked. Hermione disapparated. Draco took her lead and did so also, not sure what exactly his father wanted to achieve, but wanting to be very far away from him whenever he got whatever it was.

The problem with the mansion was that you could apparate within its walls, but not out of them. So Hermione and Draco were forced to disapparate from room to room until they felt the danger had passed, whatever it was.

Draco barricaded himself in a freezer off the kitchen among the various meats hanging off the walls. It was freezing in there – but it wasn't likely his father would find him in such a place. He sank to the floor and waited for the storm to pass, whispering concealment charms all the while.

Meanwhile, Hermione found herself cornered: She stood in the middle of a hallway in the West Wing, surrounded by Lucius Malfoy on one side, and another Lucius Malfoy on the other. Unsure of which one was the real Lucius, she stood her ground, weighing which option would be best.

She made a choice and bounded to the right, only to slam directly into the real Lucius. The double laughed manically and disappeared into smoke.

"Stand still, you little chit," Lucius snarled, holding her head back by a fistful of hair, yet again. Her scalp burned and she held back a scream – this was all too familiar, this setting. She felt the more of a struggle she put up, the more it would bring her pain…

...And still…

Lucius's wand again at her throat, she couldn't help but be terrified. What was he going to do to her? Surely not anything nearly as terrible as Alan had done, that month or so ago – but yet, Lucius was so much more intimidating… what was in store for her?

"Now you'll know what it means to disobey me," he threatened.

Hermione knew she WOULD know what it meant. And very soon. But disarmed and captured, what was left to do?

.

.

As he waited anxiously in his little hide-out, brushing away house elves that came in by accident, it occurred to Draco all of a sudden that his father was not after him. He knew because if he HAD been looking for him, he would have tried contacting him by their blood, the same way Narcissa had done the day she arrived to perform the spell that'd caused all the trouble.

It was Hermione who Lucius was after.

Draco realized he had a few options facing him at that moment…

The first option was to stay put: It was the cowardly thing to do, but a very smart idea nonetheless; He'd had a whole life of living with his father to know when it was a bad idea to get involved with things Lucius wanted done – becoming a Death Eater himself had merely been a testimony in favor of that thought.

The second option was to find Lucius and figure out what he wanted. Conditionally – if it wasn't too bad, whatever it was – then he could possibly help come to a consensus and everyone could leave the unfortunate event unscathed.

The third and final option was to seek out Hermione and help her formulate a plan of defense. The idea wasn't appealing, although he recognized that it was the morally right thing to do. Probably the idea repelled him so much because it reeked of a plan a Gryffindor would charge directly into.

The second idea didn't bode well for working in his favor, and so he scrapped it. But the first was tempting... though he knew it was the third option he should be choosing if he wanted to do the correct thing.

Draco fought an internal war with himself for a couple seconds. A loud bang from the floor directly above him brought him back to reality.

He sighed and promptly disapparated into the room above.

.

.

The hall was torn apart; A chair was upturned, the tapestries were in tatters, and Floo powder was spewed across the floor, as though Hermione had made an effort to escape, but failed.

Lucius had Hermione pinned against the far wall when Draco's feet touched the ground. Her eyes were wide, but fixated and determined, like the lion he knew she was on the inside.

"What do you want with her?" Draco demanded, wondering how he was supposed to defend himself when he still didn't have his wand.

"You don't factor into this," Lucius snarled. He resembled an angry pitbull, his face contorted into a theatrical mask of hatred and insanity.

"If I'm not much mistaken, FATHER," Draco stressed, crossing his arms across his chest, "that is my wife you're threatening."

"A wife you can't even properly impregnate, you mean. Some pride YOU have," Lucius countered, his hand sliding across Hermione's neck, the other still pointing the wand directly at her throat. "You weren't supposed to be a coward, Draco, but that's how you turned out."

Hermione had visibly tensed – she wanted to fight back, but the situation was in such tight quarters, she knew she had no reasonable way out in that moment. She was trapped, like a rabbit that'd been spotted by a falcon in the middle of an empty field.

"Don't. Touch. Her," Draco growled, his voice low enough to be heard, and threatening.

The tone of his voice made Hermione shiver ever-so-slightly. It was a very un-Draco voice.

Lucius's hand tightened around her throat and Hermione's hands immediately shot to her neck; She clawed wildly at his hands with her fingernails, struggling to breathe.

"Let her go," Draco warned again in the same low voice.

Hermione was running out of air. Her arms were beginning to slacken, her energy waning. As her vision began to cloud, she was painfully reminded that this was the second time she'd been strangled into unconsciousness that summer.

What would happen to her once she had fainted?

Would Lucius kill her? That might be a welcome end, after all. But... Harry and Ginny and Ron… she couldn't die, if only for them…

Would Draco just stand there…?

"Do you mock me with this… joke?" Lucius was screaming at Draco. "Do it right! I don't care if you have to impregnate this girl a thousand times, but until you properly conceive, there will be repercussions. Take this warning seriously – or I will do it myself!"

With that, Lucius bodily flung Hermione into the wall. In her half-conscious state, she briefly marveled at how easily he had thrown her whole weight - like a ragdoll, almost - before the pain settled in.

Her whole body was on fire, especially her lower abdomen. It burned, searing her insides like Fiendfyre…

The blackness came like an old friend, welcoming her to be enveloped into its arms…

...There wasn't any pain there to meet her…

...She sunk away, unconscious.

.

.

"Hermione."

Her name barely left his lips; Draco, himself was surprised he'd even uttered it.

A dark red rivulet leaked its way across the floor, an ominous indicator that the outcome of such a vicious attack was going to be extreme. The tiny stream of blood grew thicker, bigger – it was seeping into the carpet, saturating the floor. The iron-like smell of blood was dense in the air, dank and pungent.

"There," Lucius breathed. "Now get it right." He stalked over to the fireplace... rummaging through the mess for some Floo Powder.

"Do you think you're just going to leave?" Draco demanded.

Lucius laughed, "What exactly do you think you're going to do to stop me?"

.

.

Author's Note: Hehe, you're going to hate me but... the next update won't be for awhile. I'm going on a business trip for a week or so!

General consensus on longer chapters vs. quicker updates seemed to be pretty even. So I added another 500 words to this chapter. Updates will probably be another 3-5 days as a result, which is a pretty even compromise.

Thanks bunches to gitgit, MyLookOfDenial., Sarjhi, Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX, InvisibleLilacNights, tfobmv18, sureynot, Joe-nasGirl, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, and -Arria Rose- for the reviews!

-Arria Rose- - Hooray for grammatical corrections! Thank you for pointing that out.

sureynot - The basic plot of this will be the same. It's just the details that tend to work out a little differently, as I'm sure you noticed. Since you read and (maybe somewhat?) remember the original fic, I bet you DO know what happens. Perceptive readers... huh. Ruin all the build up! Haha


	37. Dysphoria

Chapter Thirty-Six

Draco sat on a leather stool in the corner of the room. To an outsider looking in, one might conclude – judging from the look on Draco's face – that he was sitting up in the room of a dead person.

He'd taken great pains to make sure Hermione was comfortable. It never occurred to him that he should do any different, although if he'd really thought about it, he might have been disgusted with himself for being too soft. A house elf had been summoned to find the best room in the mansion – a task which was promptly completed and Draco's intentions executed. There was a tower room, five floors above the ground and solitary. An abundance of windows yielded an unparalleled view of the lake.

The rain seemed to have let up a little bit;Sunlight was streaming into the room through the rain and mist. The result was a beautiful rainbow arch across the sky – a manifestation of a happiness Draco could not begin to feel.

He'd summoned a bed, and then his mother. Narcissa arrived promptly by Floo and listened intently to Draco's story, the corners of her mouth downturned and her eyebrows furrowed, betraying that she was not happy at all with the news she was receiving. All the while, she worked deftly at healing Hermione's bruises (there were an accumulation of them around her throat), and stemming the remaining blood that continued to flow from her body.

When finally Draco had finished relaying the events, he sat on the stool where he now rested. He felt he had never spoken so many words in his life.

"The child is gone," Narcissa confirmed.

Draco already knew this, intuitively; His gray eyes watched Narcissa as she worked, looking away when he felt it was necessary.

"I'm giving her sedatives. She needs her sleep – it will be welcome to her."

Draco nodded absently. The wheels of his mind were turning at a speed of what seemed a thousand miles a minute.

"You did this," he finally uttered, gray eyes fixed on his mother.

Narcissa stiffened. "Indirectly, yes. You're right. I did." She faced her son with hazel eyes, now dull from years of emotional vapidity and discontent. "Do you hate me?"

He shook his head. Satisfied, she turned back to her work. A Malfoy never apologizes.

"How can you stand him?"

Narcissa did not look up again, but answered, "I do what I must... what else would I do?"

"He was married to a woman before you."

"Yes."

"You never told me."

"I never wanted you to know."

"I met my brother."

Narcissa visibly stiffened again. "I knew there was a child..."

"Why did you marry him if you knew his reputation could be tarnished?" Narcissa did not reply. Draco knew he was being ignored – but he was a married man now, and etiquette allowed him to challenge this. "I don't appreciate being ignored, mother."

"I loved him then," she whispered hastily. She looked around the room quickly, as thought afraid someone might have heard her admit such an emotion.

Draco's eyes fell to the ground: it was an answer he hadn't expected at all. Love! What an idea…

"What happened?"

"Does it matter?"

"What if it did?"

"It is not something I care to discuss, nor do I feel compelled to do so, in any case," she concluded with a dry sniff. The subject had closed.

Feeling he shouldn't push the envelope, Draco let the revelation lie. His eyes fixed back to the limp form on the bed.

"I am going to leave you for a little while," Narcissa announced. "There are things that need to be done to this home to ensure your father does not return - though I believe his work here is already done. I will set up some basic enchantments for the time being. Later tonight, you and I will talk further."

"What happens when he finds out you're here?" Draco questioned.

"You don't need to worry about me, Draco."

He knew he didn't – but it never had stopped him from doing so, anyway.

As soon as she left, the room was enveloped with a silence akin to a mausoleum.

Draco's gaze fell to the floor, and he caught a glimpse of Hermione's shoes, which he'd carelessly discarded before he'd placed her on the bed. A lump rose in his throat: they were so tiny they surely couldn't fit on her foot. He glanced for the first time at her feet, impossibly small. He felt like he wanted to cry, but Draco Malfoy simply did not cry – he'd forgotten how somewhere along the line.

How fragile she seemed at this moment. He just wanted to run his fingers along her cheek, but was afraid she might shatter, made of glass. And besides, such an action seemed so forbidden and unnecessary.

…But who would ever know…?

Tentatively, he raised his hand, softly running his thumb along her jawline. She didn't break – she didn't even move.

All at once it occurred to Draco that Hermione was human, just like him. She had blood in her veins. She had a beating heart. Everyone already knew she had a brain. But there she lay, human in every aspect.

It struck Draco at that moment how big the world really was. There were people out there – other humans! They all had bodies that worked just like his. They all had minds, individual thoughts. He was one of them. Hermione was one of them.

…Could they really be all THAT different, after all?

A lock of hair was curled around her ear, framing her paler-than-usual face. It was such a feminine thing Draco almost felt he should turn away. But why?

Despite the question there, he still couldn't bring himself to do it. Retreating back to the stool, he remained there for almost a full hour before he left.

Something inside him wanted to look back as he left, but he fought the impulse aggressively, closing the door behind him.

.

.

Hermione woke up that night to an unfamiliar room, circular and with stone walls. There were several lit candles floating around the room to offer some dim lighting. A familiar ginger ball of fluff was situated by her feet.

"Crookshanks?" she rasped through dry lips.

Bewildered, she attempted to sit up in bed but she was so sore, she had to exert quite a bit of effort just to achieve what she wanted.

The cat looked up, but it wasn't Crookshanks. It stared at her for a moment before extending its front legs forward in a stretch. Yawning, the cat sauntered to the other side of the bed, still a little ways out of her reach and curled up again.

Her heart sank – having Crookshanks there would have been a bigger aide to her miserable life than anyone might have supposed. But she'd given up on recovering him – he'd most likely been lost in the fire that had claimed her parents…

For a moment, she considered why she was in such a strange room. Why did she feel so different? What had happened? Where was she?

The memory came back in a flash flood: the intensity of it literally knocked the wind out of her, as though she'd taken a blow to the stomach. Propping herself up against the headboard, she put a hand on her stomach. It felt different, somehow. Had something happened?

"You're awake."

The voice startled Hermione so much, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her hand flew to her heart – but it was Narcissa, emerging from the shadows of the room.

"I hope I didn't startle you too badly," the woman murmured awkwardly.

"No," Hermione sighed, "I'm fine. What… what happened to me?"

"Perimeters have been put up around this manor; Lucius will not be able to return."

Well THAT was good news, anyway… even if it didn't answer the question. Purebloods were never good for answering questions.

"What day is it?"

"August the thirty-first."

"Hogwarts begins tomorrow."

"You will be well enough to go. But if you feel faint in the morning, Draco has received permission for you to arrive at a later date."

"Draco…" Hermione's brow furrowed. "The school knows we're married?"

"Yes."

That WASN'T good news… maybe she could ask MacGonagall not to say anything… Even as she thought this idea, Hermione realized she was being childish.

"What happened to…?"

She didn't need to finish the sentence: Both she and Narcissa knew what she was referring to. The other woman's silence told her everything she needed to know.

Hermione slumped back onto her pillow as it finally sunk in: she was not having her child. After all the resentment, violation and displeasure… the child would never come to exist.

Despite never having felt any love for the life she had presumed to have been growing inside her, Hermione felt tears well up into her eyes. Her head jerked to the window where, sure enough, the rain was running in tiny estuaries down the windowpanes.

The door creaked open and a house elf bearing a tray of light food entered. Upon seeing his mistress awake, he bowed profusely and placed the tray on a table by her side.

"Fetch the master," Narcissa said to the elf.

The elf bowed to her and promptly disapparated, seeming glad to have been given a specific task to complete.

Moments later, the door creaked open and Draco emerged from the other side of it. Narcissa seemed to float across the ground to her son. She put a hand on his arm and whispered, "I will leave you for tonight. Tomorrow you leave for school."

"You'll stay here, as you said, while I'm away?" he queried, eyes serious.

"Yes," she confirmed. Without another word, she quit the room.

Hermione looked up at Draco and looked swiftly down again; His facial expression was one of someone walking into a room full of dead and dying people.

The pair sat in silence for what seemed like eons. The rain beat a steady rhythm on the windowpanes, a dreary reminder of what the two young people were up against.

"She told you?" he prompted, finally resolving to say something.

Hermione burst into tears, interrupting the silence with an explosion of dysphoria: grief, hopelessness and sorrow.

Her tears alarmed Draco, who had no idea what to do, or how to respond to them. Feeling intensely uncomfortable, he sat in silence until she'd cried her heart out.

Once her tears had reduced to mere sniffles, he unstuck his throat and seemed to find his voice. "You need to forget, Hermione," he said simply.

"Forget," she repeated dully. "Forget – how?" She allowed space for a pause, but Draco somehow got the distinct impression she was not looking for him to reply. He was right. "How can I forget my parents? They're dead. How can I forget my grandmother? She hates me. How can I forget living in fear? I still do. How can I forget that you and I HATED one another for seven years? We still might. How can I forget the… the violation? It still affects me. How can I forget your father? The miscarriage?"

The miscarriage. It was the first time someone had acknowledged what it was properly. Draco felt ashamed with himself for having been spawned by a man like his father.

"Those things all happened. Nothing will ever change them. I CAN'T forget them. Those things are what my life is MADE UP OF!" Hermione cried.

There was a cadence in the conversation and Draco determined that she'd finished her reply and he was now allowed to say his piece. "I don't want you to forget those things. What I want you to forget… is pain."

His gray eyes were like glaciers – so cold… but Hermione could tell there was something hidden underneath their depths. What it was, she didn't know – but she understood.

"Forget the pain," she murmured. Then with a small laugh, she repeated, "Forget the pain."

She looked again into his boreal eyes. They looked back from their arctic depths.

Night enclosed them like curtains upon the final act.

.

.

Author's Note: My kids were watching that Disney version of the Tarzan movie. You know that Phil Collins song, "Two Worlds" that is part of the soundtrack? Yeah, well that's what you can thank for the quick update. In any case, I wanted to leave you all with something else before I go on my trip! (Because you're all awesome and stuff!)

CherryKatt202 - I know you asked me to send you a PM answering your question, but I hope this chapter answered it for me!

Thanks bucketloads to gitgit, tfobmv18, MyLookOfDenial., Sarjhi, margaritama, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, InvisibleLilacNights and Joe-nasGirl for the reviews! I know you all asked me to update quickly... but I bet you didn't expect it THIS quick!!! Haha

gitgit - I agree. A growling Draco is a VERY sexy thing... in the right circumstances... You can bet there will be the good kind of growling Draco in chapters to come... hehehe...

margaritama - It does have to be Draco. Lucius is just an asshole and he likes to make threats he can't always follow through with, as he demonstrated a small handful of times throughout JKR's series. Sorry for the confusion!!


	38. Back To School

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Hermione dressed very carefully the next morning. She was still a little sore, but with the aid of some healing potions and a few quick-fix spells, she had the appearance of being no worse for wear. At least on the outside…

"I've talked to McGonagall," Draco murmured.

Hermione turned, to acknowledge that he'd spoken, but not to face him, "And?"

"She will say nothing. You'll still be Hermione Granger while you're within the walls of Hogwarts."

He was slicking back his hair in the mirror of their bathroom. Hermione watched him from the corner of her eye, "Why do you do that?"

"The hair?" He shrugged, "Habit, I guess. When I was younger, I wanted to be just like my father. I suppose now it's just a daily tradition."

Hermione set her hairbrush down on the bedside table, "Was he really all that different then?"

"He used to let me climb onto his shoulders when I was six… only when no one was watching, of course."

Hermione was surprised: she hadn't expected something of Lucius Malfoy, even if it had been over a decade ago.

The pair descended the stairwell one after the other, Hermione levitating her trunk, whilst Draco allowed two house elves to lug his down the steps for him.

Narcissa seemed to float into the room – the woman was staying in the Manor while they were away. Draco had made her promise not to be near Lucius until they could come up with a better idea on how to proceed with the current situation.

"Have a good year," she bid them both distantly. Her mind was clearly elsewhere.

Good-byes were exchanged with a complete lack of feeling. Hermione and Draco both Floo'd separately to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters (a new system that'd been set up so as to arouse less suspicion among the Muggles). Rumors tended to spread like conflagration at Hogwarts - and for the time being, it was completely unnecessary for anyone at the school to be aware that the two former worst-enemies were now a married couple.

Neither acknowledged the other as they went their separate ways to different parts of the train. Hermione was overjoyed to find Harry, Ron and Ginny pretty quickly, but was dismayed when Neville also entered compartment… it meant she could not talk freely of everything that was bothering her. Begrudgingly, she knew she would have to wait.

"Weird coming back, isn't it?" Neville asked with a subdued voice, "You know… knowing we weren't supposed to?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

"Harry was offered the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," Ginny offered, as soon as it become obvious that no one really wanted to contribute to the conversation.

"You were?" Neville demanded, wide-eyed. "This year?"

"No, they've got a temporary person. She doesn't want to stay more than a year because she's supposed to inherit a position at Beauxbatons," Harry explained. "I've got to finish up school first, you know. Graduate."

"Congratulations," Hermione said, truly meaning it. She knew Harry didn't think he was a good teacher, even after the DA… but she knew better.

"What about you, Hermione?" Neville put in, "I bet you've got a lot of offers, too."

Hermione shrugged; She had. But circumstances at the moment prevented her from accepting anything. "A few places," she admitted. "But I haven't made any decisions."

"I've decided to finish up and get into Herbology," Neville said, "since it's the only thing I really was good at."

The statement sounded exactly like something Neville would have said years ago, but there was a new gleam in his eyes that hinted his confidence wasn't really so low as such a statement might seem to hint. After all, he had a lot to be proud of.

"How do you think they'll sort?" Ginny queried.

"I guess we'll find out," Ron grunted, finally chiming in for the first time. His eyes were rooted on Hermione and she found it very difficult to look away from her lap.

There was something in Ron's voice that reeked of finality. The group was silent for much of the way. It seemed they were all weary, though of what, no one could pinpoint. Ginny fell asleep, her head resting on Harry's lap. Hermione pulled out a book and pretended to read, although her brain didn't seem to be processing anything; There was too much going on in her head, even to enjoy learning something new.

The train ride continued much in that vein until they reached the school. Ginny woke up as the train signaled its arrival and Hermione anxiously put her book away, relieved to have something to occupy herself with, even if it was only to climb into the carriages.

She could see the thestrals.

Everyone could.

.

.

Hogwarts seemed too empty that year; Even eight years of students versus the usual seven couldn't hide that. Many people had decided not to return to school. Many were no longer alive to make that choice.

As it turned out, they were never to find out how the first years were sorted at all: Professor Flitwick merely got up to the front of the room and read the names off the list, followed by whichever house they were now to belong to.

"How do you reckon they've sorted them?" Ginny wondered.

"Asked them each six questions beforehand," a sixth year girl Hermione didn't know whispered back. "My sister's in that lot. She told me. Based the sorting this year on how they answered the questions."

Ron snorted. His arms were crossed over his chest as he watched the proceedings with something akin to incredulity.

"Makes sense," Harry murmured, "since the Sorting Hat was destroyed last year and all…"

As the new first years joined their random tables, Hermione absently clapped for the new Gryffindors, knowing that across the room, should she care to look, Draco was probably clapping for all the new Slytherins. Such a simple action highlighted the differences between them. Hermione felt in that moment that she was sure those differences were irreconcilable.

They'd only gotten seven new Gryffindors that year: four boys and three girls - though they still got more new students than any other House. Hermione was astounded at how young the lot of them looked. She'd been there once; So had Draco. What would she have said then if someone had told her she would eventually marry the tow-headed shrimp at the Slytherin table?

"Good evening, students," the thin, no-nonsense voice of Professor McGonagall echoed across the hall, "welcome, and… welcome back."

She seemed to be surveying the hall, taking in the lack of students present. Perhaps her mind, too was adjusting to the idea that many parents had not wanted to send their children back to school there… and that enough students, too, had died to dwindle their numbers.

"I am your Headmistress McGonagall, formerly Head of the Gryffindor house. In my stead, Professor Babbling, from the Ancient Runes department, herself a former Gryffindor, will be taking the position as the Head of Gryffindor house."

The Gryffindor table applauded Professor Babbling, who nodded her head graciously at the table, a prim smile gracing her lips.

"We have some other announcements," McGonagall continued, "Professor Slughorn will reprise his role as the Head of Slytherin House…"

Hermione's head slowly turned to look at the Slytherins. Out of all the tables there, the Slytherin table was the most empty. Only 27 students sat there, of which Draco seemed the most unabashed… as though the whole school didn't already know that it had primarily been the Slytherins that'd aided the destruction of parts of the school… not to mention "that whole Voldemort business" as Ginny'd put it.

"…and Professors Flitwick and Sprout will also be returning to their places as the heads of both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, respectively. We have a new Muggle Studies instructor, Professor Kinneswick" – the hall clapped for a very Scottish-looking gentleman, who raised a meaty hand to wave at the student body- "and Professor Nguyen will be taking charge of Transfiguration." A petite Vietnamese woman with piercing green eyes inclined her head. "Lastly, Professor Serret will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor," McGonagall announced, gesturing to a short, squat woman with a simpering smile, and dripping with pearls. Pearl earrings, pearl necklace, pearl buttons on her cardiagan, pearl bracelet... pearl everything. "For those of you who are returning to Hogwarts, you will notice a few changes... seventh and eighth years will be taking their N.E.W.T.s together in June, and classes between these two age categories are to be mixed."

There was a muttering among the hall, though Hermione noticed there were very few outbursts of disapproval.

"The fourth, fifth, and sixth floors facing the North have been closed off until further notice. Anyone taking Arithmancy, your classroom has been relocated to the fourth floor, directly down the hall from the Armor Gallery. That is all. Please enjoy your feast."

She sat and the hall erupted into the noise of students talking, gossiping, and sharing information: though it was painfully obvious to everyone present that there was a lack of laughter.

"I didn't think they'd have to shut off the North corridors," Ginny said aloud, her eyes somewhat wide. "They must not have fixed it properly since…"

The battle. Everyone knew.

The feast didn't seem to taste as good as it usually did to Hermione. Looking around, she seemed to be the only one who thought that way. Seamus and Dean were stuffing their faces as usual, and Ron was also partaking, though with a little less gusto than was normal.

Harry and Ginny had their heads together, acting very couply, much to the chagrin of many younger Gryffindor girls as well as a number of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, all of whom seemed to have developed gargantuan crushes on Harry over the course of the summer.

Hermione felt she handled herself very well throughout the feast, eating normally and smiling when people talked to her. Every other omission, she figured, could be blamed on the events of the previous year.

For the most part, Harry, Ron and Hermione were given quite a lot of space, for once not out of evil feelings, but due to respect. The stares were annoying, however.

Hermione chanced a look at the Slytherin table. Draco was immersed in intense conversation with Blaise Zabini, in what appeared to be hushed tones. She idly wondered what they were talking about, vaguely hoping it wasn't her. Her eyes roamed away after a time, settling on her plate, half-full. She took a long, slow drink of her pumpkin juice, more to pass the time than out of thirst.

Once the feast had ended, she trudged up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. It was good to be walking somewhere that felt familiar - something that was a part of the norm. Tiny changes along the way caught her eye (a suit of armor was missing, a portrait replaced, a corridor that'd previously been in use was closed off), but she shrugged them off, determined to be content and grateful for being somewhere she loved and knew well.

She was unable to ignore the memorials, however.

The halls were decorated with new portraits in tell-tale places, of former students, and of members of the Order of the Phoenix - all of them having in common only one thing: the occupants of the portraits were now deceased.

Remus Lupin snored blissfully from inside his frame along the main corridor on the seventh floor. Hermione saw Harry stop wistfully in front of the portrait and she waited by his side. Underneath the frame read, "Remus John Lupin. Member of the Order of the Phoenix. Order of Merlin First Class. Former Hogwarts Professor. 1960-1998"

Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulders, knowing all that he must be feeling. After all, she was not the only one with heartache in her life.

But when Harry raised his eyes to her, he smiled just a little. "I know he's at peace now. And I will be everything to Teddy that I can be."

Nymphadora Tonks, her portrait directly to the left of Remus's, smiled, her purple eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know you will, Harry. Come visit some time when Remus is awake," she suggested.

"I will," Harry promised. Hermione knew he would.

Hermione and Harry turned away, walking side-by-side back to Gryffindor Tower in silence; They parted with smiles that did not quite reach either of their eyes.

The day had been exhausting. After all, pretending you were one thing when you really were another is quite a draining task. Hermione collapsed on her bed, clothes still on.

.

.

Author's Note: I'm sorry this took so long in coming. I've been very busy lately. Please excuse me!

Thank you all SO much: gitgit, InvisibleLilacNights, tfobmv18, Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX, sureynot, MyLookOfDenial., ebbe04, Joe-nasGirl, and Hermione0323 for the reviews!! I really do appreciate them quite a bit.

sureynot - Thank you for pointing out I'd spelled McGonagall's name wrong. I always do that!

Hermione0323 - Welcome back!


	39. Not As Hopeless As We Thought

Chapter Thirty-Eight

"What are you muttering about, Hermione?" Ron asked as he spread marmalade over his toast. It was the morning before their first classes – everyone, it seemed, was curious to see what would happen now that so many things were different – except Ron.

"Nothing, really. I'm just anxious for class."

Ron shrugged, "It's not like you have anything to worry about. You're you."

Hermione knew Ron meant to be encouraging, but she immediately became defensive. "What's that supposed to mean? That I'm better than everyone else, or something?"

Ron's jaw tightened a little and he seemed to be trying very hard to control a sudden temper, "No, it doesn't." He began accidentally spreading the marmalade onto his pancakes.

"Then what does it mean?" she snapped.

Harry's attention had been caught at this point, "It doesn't mean anything, Hermione. Ron was just trying to be helpful."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, noticing the marmalade.

"Oh, I see. Gang up on me. That's fine." Hermione shoved her piece of toast into her mouth and gathered up her things, storming out of the Great Hall, amid stares from her fellow students – many of whom still thought she and Ron were a couple.

Ron stared after her with a look of utter contempt before turning to Harry, furiously complaining: "I know she's been through a lot, but the way she's acting, you'd think she was the only one!"

"Don't be too angry, Ron," Ginny soothed, "Hermione's misfortunes are still manifesting themselves in her everyday life. Can you imagine how hard it must be to have to wake up and go to breakfast when you know you're going to see your husband – who you don't even like – across the hall, ignoring you?"

"In case you forgot, Ginny," Ron stormed, ruined pancake in one hand, "_I_ have to wake up every morning to _remember_ that she's married to him and watch the whole song and dance, _myself_!"

Ginny sighed, "I know, Ron."

"And in case you also forgot," Ron added contemptuously, "she never had to watch her own family DIE right in front of her eyes." He bit angrily into the pancake.

"Ronald," Ginny warned in her most dangerous voice.

"No one's saying Hermione's situation is more difficult than yours," Harry mediated. "They're just different. Neither of you can really understand one another."

Ron's countenance suddenly switched, and he appeared very morose, chewing the pancake absently. "I think I still love her."

Ginny gave her brother an awkward hug, "I thought so."

"It's just hard, knowing there's nothing I can do. She's MARRIED," Ron stressed, taking another bite of his pancake, the marmalade sliding off the sides and onto his plate. He took no notice.

"If you love her, mate, you might have to settle for being her friend. Of anything right now, that's what Hermione needs the most," Harry offered sympathetically.

"I know," Ron muttered darkly. "But that'd mean having to accept that she's gone."

"You've got to do it sometime," Ginny put in.

"Terrible pancakes, here," Ron cursed, flopping his half-eaten pancake onto his plate and ignoring his sister's comment. "I'm going to class."

He exited much in the same way as Hermione had. As soon as he had gone, Harry and Ginny exchanged looks, communicating they were both upset at the recent developments between their friends, and also thankful that they had one another. Ginny rested her head on Harry's shoulder; He took her hand.

.

.

Meanwhile, Draco was not quite so unaware as he might have seemed; Having watched the exchange take place, he was able to read lips for much of the conversation.

It occurred to him that no one had probably told Hermione's friends that the school did not yet know she was married. Well, if they kept gabbing like that, soon _everyone_ would know – and that was not what either he OR Hermione wanted to happen.

There was no way around it: he would have to say something to Potter. The last thing he needed, aside even from the glares and snide remarks about his past, was for everyone to know he was married. To Hermione.

He waited impatiently while Harry and Ginny finished their breakfast. He judged they would probably have the same class Hermione and Ron did, and so would exit the Great Hall through the same doors. The moment he saw them gather their things, he stood up nonchalantly and made his way to the doors facing the East Wing.

He intercepted them outside the hall, just as he'd hoped. "Potter," he said audibly. He was glad no one else was in that particular corridor at the time.

"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged, stopping in his tracks. He was holding hands with Ginny, who was trying very hard to look anywhere but at Draco.

"I need to talk with you."

"We're just going to Transfiguration," Harry replied, as though that was some kind of answer.

"There's something you need to know," Draco continued, ignoring Harry's ambiguous comment. "I've talked to McGonagall. No one at the school knows I'm married. I'd rather it stayed that way."

"Oh yes, because this is all about you!" Ginny snapped, brown eyes furious as she finally consented to look at him.

"For your information, I contacted the school to protect…" Draco peered around the hallway again "…_Hermione_ from what kind of treatment she might get from people knowing that kind of information. You think I don't get ridiculed now? You think people don't know I was a scumbag? She's been through enough – don't you think? – without everyone associating her with me…"

Ginny closed her mouth.

"I appreciate that you did that for her," Harry said quietly.

"I didn't do it for your appreciation. But you might as well not go around putting those precautions into jeopardy," Draco snapped.

He was feeling very raw at that moment: what was wrong with him? Why was he admitting he'd done anything for Hermione? Because he actually cared about her? THAT would be absurd. Draco Malfoy never cared for anyone, really, unless they were useful. Hermione wasn't very useful – in fact, all she seemed to be doing was causing more troubles for him.

"I know you didn't do it for my appreciation. But I'm still glad you did it."

"Sure," Draco shrugged.

"Is that all?"

"I guess," Draco replied.

"I'll see you around, then, Draco."

He winced at the use of his first name, "Yeah, something like that…"

As he walked off, Draco silently cursed himself. What was that look Potter had on his face back there? And who gave him the right to call him by his given name, anyway?

Glancing at his schedule, Draco realized he was going the wrong way.

"Muggle Studies," he snorted. McGonagall had required all those involved with Voldemort to undergo a Muggle Studies class – both for retribution, understanding, and also in the hopes, most likely, of reforming some of them. "Absurd," he cursed, fuming, as he made his way up the staircase.

.

.

"What WAS that look you had on your face, back there, Harry?" Ginny demanded, letting go of Harry's hand and walking backwards in front of him.

"I have a hunch," Harry murmured thoughtfully.

Ginny waited for him to say more, but when he didn't, she tapped his shoulder impatiently, "…And the hunch is…?"

"Well," Harry said, chewing the inside of his cheek, "call me crazy, Gin, but I don't think Malfoy's as hopeless as we thought he was."

Ginny snorted, "He's still a git."

"Maybe he is. But he's done a lot of thinking."

"So what? He still ruined Hermione's life," she retorted.

"I don't know about that."

"Harry! Stop being so vague!" Ginny complained.

"Sorry, sorry," Harry apologized sheepishly, "but I just don't want to be wrong."

She rolled her eyes, "You're not being any LESS vague by saying that, you know."

"I think Draco CARES for our 'Mione," Harry said quietly.

Ginny snorted, "As if. Can someone like him even ever care for anything?"

"I told you, Ginny, I don't think he's as hopeless as everyone made him out to be," Harry said seriously. "And when was the last time you ever heard of Draco doing something NICE for someone?"

"Never," Ginny said flatly, in a tone that showed how skeptical she clearly was.

"EXACTLY, Gin," Harry proved, "so why should he start now? Why did he go even a little bit out of his way to do something that would benefit Hermione?"

"I can see why you're making this connection," Ginny admitted, "but I just don't really think it's plausible."

"Maybe not," Harry admitted.

"But you're not going to drop it."

"I won't bring it up again… but I do want to see where it goes."

"If anywhere," Ginny added, with a tinge of incredulity.

.

.

It didn't take Hermione long to get frustrated with herself. She felt like she couldn't learn anything – nothing Professor Nguyen said in Transfiguration was making any sense to her, even though she knew it was just a recap of things she'd learned just over a year ago.

She felt like her brain wasn't working. Had she been brainwashed? What if she would never recover? Would she fail? She couldn't fail! What would she ever amount to, if she failed? Nothing!

It didn't help that Ron was going out of his way to be TOO nice to her, or that Harry and Ginny seemed to be sharing some great secret. She purposely paired herself with Parvati Patil when they were doing practices, so she wouldn't have to deal with any of them.

That, too, turned out to be a bad idea.

"Should be an interesting year," Parvati remarked with a small smile. "It was an interesting year last year, though. And followed by an interesting summer, of course. What did you do over the summer?"

If only you knew, Hermione thought inwardly. She felt distinctly bitter, and angry for feeling that way. Resentful. If only _anyone_ knew how much the summer had ruined her life...

.

.

Author's Note: No, this chapter didn't have much Draco or Hermione. In fact, most of it was Harry and Ginny. I know that, as readers, when you guys read a Draco and Hermione fic, you're not really looking forward to reading a whole bunch about Ron or Harry or Ginny... but I think this chapter is important. Otherwise, how could Ron and Hermione go from being so into one another just months ago to nothing? They couldn't. And far too often, I think, Ron's side of the story gets lost in these sorts of fics.

So, in other words, I'm sorry, but I'm not. If that makes sense.

Thanks to InvisibleLilacNights, gitgit, Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX, MyLookOfDenial., RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, ShadX, Padfoot7Progs, -Arria Rose-, and Marmalade Fever for the reviews! I give you all cookies! Yum!

Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX - I guess I didn't understand your question about the Heads of Houses. Did you mean Prefects and Head Boy/Girl? Or did you mean Heads like in the way McGonagall was the Head of Gryffindor House?

Marmalade Fever - Yes, I do know about the semicolons. I write for a newspaper, though, and that's how they like me to do it, so that's how it's been ingrained into my head... so unfortunately, bad grammar, yes, but they stay. Sorry. lol

P.S. I'm really glad everyone liked the portraits of Lupin and Tonks. I was rather proud of coming up with that bit. Yes, there will be more throughout the school, as you'll most likely see later.


	40. Let The Rain Come Down

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Hermione felt trapped. The walls of the school felt suffocating when she couldnt be allowed outside: it had been forbidden – the rain was getting to be too much. The lake had flooded and the grounds were feet deep in mud. Hermione wondered how Hagrid had not drowned in his hut.

She climbed to the fifth floor balcony, where there was a copious overhang. She knew she would still get wet, but at that point, she didnt care. All she wanted was some fresh air and a few minutes away from the hustle and bustle of school.

She passed a memorial portrait of Colin Creevey, and all but ran onto the balcony, closing the doors behind her. Finally she was alone.

The storm outside was howling: it was no wonder no one else was occupying the little marble area. The wind was ferocious as it whipped her already-frazzled hair, endless rain droplets beating down onto the stone.

Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her back against the door, sliding down until she was sitting directly in a puddle, which had possibly taken days to accumulate. The overhang was not doing much to protect her from the storm; Within a few minutes, she was drenched.

"This cant go on," she muttered quietly.

Her voice was lost in a peal of thunder – just as, she felt, her voice had been silenced in the world.

.

.

_My brother,_

_Your situation truly is upsetting. Although I did not get a chance to get to know either you or your wife (as I shall refer to her now in these letters, on the chance that someone may come across them), the arrangement always did come across to me as a little odd. That the marriage was arranged was something I did assume. That the cause of arrangement was something to this magnitude, I had no idea._

_It is raining here just as heavily as it has been for the past week. You are absolutely right that something does need to be done about it. Though as for an answer, I am sadly lacking in advice._

_Have you talked to her? What does she think? I know she's very intelligent; Perhaps there is something she has to say that could be of some use. Using both of your brainpower together, I'm sure something could be arranged._

_I'm staying at my mother's home in Germany at the moment, and I regret the lateness of my letter. Twitch (the owl) wasnt very eager to deliver the letter in the first place, on account of the rain, and I imagine he was quite rude to you. My apologies._

_There is a library in town I think I will visit. The basement is open only to wizards, though the upstairs is for the Muggles, who aren't aware there is a downstairs at all. I will look into the properties of Grenadian Thestral Hoof Enamel, as you wished, though I doubt that my search will wield much better results than yours._

_Until next time,_

_Your brother,_

_Adrian Gleibter_

.

Draco folded the letter quickly and stored it in his trunk. He sat down on his bed, at a loss – though he wasnt willing to admit it. There wasnt really any way to hide it, though: Draco Malfoy was in a pickle.

His mother's advice had been to research the Thestral Hoof Enamel, and discover the way Lucius was planning to resurrect a spirit of the Dark Lord. This was good advice, though the letter was annoyingly lacking with sound advice on what to do about the rain.

Adrian's advice, on the other hand, seemed to be that Hermione would have some kind of answer. If that wasn't frustrating enough... he was probably right!

But that would mean talking to her. Draco sighed aloud. That wasnt the kind of conversation he and Hermione could have through letters. Draco knew Adrian was right: but how to do it? How could they meet up at school without attracting the attention of at least one person?

Draco cast a weary glance at the owl Adrian had sent with his letter. The bird was thoroughly wet and very obviously disgruntled. Sending him at this time would probably not be a good idea, unless Draco wanted his eyes pecked out.

"What to do?" he murmured aloud.

It was lucky no one else was in the dormitory at that time, otherwise they might have thought the youngest Malfoy had finally gone insane.

"Nothing for it, I suppose," he muttered, as if in determination of the fact that he really only had one choice.

He swung the window open, and the owl flapped out in a whirl of brown and black feathers toward the owlery. Once the bird had gone, Draco pulled out a spare piece of parchment and neatly penned:

_Meet me in the trophy room, 11:00 tonight._

_DM_

That was simple – and soon – enough that it left no time for any real contemplation about what an act would do to his pride and possibly hers; Draco was slowly beginning to realize that Hermione had her own sense of pride. He guessed that's what came of being a Gryffindor.

He made his way slowly to the owlery. There was nowhere he had to be until later when he met up with Hermione.

"If she even consents to show up," Draco thought aloud. But he knew she would.

.

.

Hermione stood waiting in the trophy room at 11:15, wondering if Draco had chickened out. In her mind, she was cursing him for asking her to be out and about at this late hour. With everything that was happening in her mind lately, she had taken up the habit of waking up every morning, going about her business like a robot, and sleeping during all the absences in-between. Crashing at night and various naps throughout the day kept her waking thoughts to a minimum, allowing her only to have to think of what was necessary. Though her dreams weren't much better than her reality.

A slight movement to her left startled her out of her wandering thoughts, though she was sure not to let it show. From the shadows, Draco appeared.

The two stared at one another for a moment, as if they were having a kind of conversation in their heads. Hermione noticed there were shadows under his eyes, mirrors of her own.

"You're late," she finally stated.

"You're early," he insisted.

Hermione allowed the corners of her mouth to upturn, which came as a surprise to her. Could it be true that she had missed the wry sense of humor that this young man offered? She supposed it might have. After all, a buoyant humor no longer agreed much with her character.

"You set the time," she pointed out.

"I did," he agreed.

They were silent.

"Its late. I have to be in bed soon. What did you need?" she finally asked.

"How soon?"

The question caught her by surprise, "Well I have Arithmancy early tomorrow, that's all..."

"We should go to the manor to talk things over."

Hermione swallowed; She had known that was coming and yet, it came as a surprise. But she also knew it was necessary.

"Okay."

He offered her his arm, which she did not refuse this time. They made their way to the nearest classroom with a fireplace – being careful to avoid a run-in with Filch – and Floo'd without further ado back to their home.

Despite herself, Hermione felt strangely glad to be sitting back in the Queen Ann style chairs that adorned her refurbished parlor. She sank into her favorite by the window with a sigh.

"Its comforting," escaped her lips.

"It is," Draco agreed, preferring to stand. He stood by the window on the opposite wall, peering out into the rainy night, looking much the part of a Byronic hero. In her mind, Hermione gave Draco some Mr. Darcy-ish features, feeling somewhat satisfied with being able to do so successfully - that had never worked before with Ron, or even Harry.

"What brought this on? I don't suppose you brought me here for my health."

He stared at her with hauntingly boreal eyes, two gelid orbs that betrayed a host of emotions Draco always tried to hide. Hermione couldn't break her gaze.

He ripped his eyes from hers with some reluctance, feeling ashamed at his own weakness. What drew his eyes to hers? Her warmth? It must be. His life had emanated cold, as far back as he could remember...

Perhaps his frostbitten soul was warming up, due to the intensity of hers: only, the flame was too hot, and the extremities were being sacrificed, causing him pain. This concept was too much for Draco, however; He banished the idea to the Siberian isolation of his subconscious.

"We have problems."

"I know."

"I talked to Adrian."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"He told me to talk to you. That we should put our heads together, and..."

"...You didnt think that the school was the best place to talk about it," she finished for him. "And you're right."

He nodded, wondering where she'd learned to finish his sentences.

"Well, what are we dealing with? she asked aloud. "We have the world about to flood because we refuse to conceive a child. Countless lives are dependant upon our sexual life. On the other hand, once said child is to hypothetically come into existence, we have an even bigger problem – that namely, being that your father wants to bring back the spirit of Voldemort - or what's left of it - in order to sap away his powers and secure his own authority to achieve world domination of some sort."

"My father does not desire world domination," Draco corrected. "His wants are less disruptive than that. He merely wants power within the societies that exist. No new world orders. No global changes. He does not desire to be king, or lord. He desires the power to restore the fear, awe, prosperity, and excellence that once made the Malfoy name worth associating with. He also, no doubt, desires more wealth and reputation. He wants to be feared."

Hermione was silent for some time, turning this over in her head and chewing on the inside of her cheek.

"His solution for this is ludicrous," Hermione concluded, shaking her head. "Did he learn nothing last year?"

"My mother believes something crucial in his mind snapped when he was sent to Azkaban," Draco supplied.

Hermione also digested this information and concluded it was likely. "So he's insane."Draco winced at the word. Hermione noticed, and felt pity for him: even if Lucius wasnt much of a father anymore, knowing that he might have gone insane still couldn't be an easy attribute to associate with one's father. "Sorry," she apologized.

Draco gave her a stern look that reminded her of McGonagall.

Hermione peered around the room anxiously, realizing she had just offended Draco. There had been a time when she wouldn't have cared, but that time was passed.

"Where's your mother?" she asked, hoping to break the silence.

"Around," Draco answered monosyllabically.

"How do you know?"

"I know," he confirmed cryptically.

Hermione stared at him for a long while. "So what's the plan?"

"There isnt one."

"Well it seems to me like the best thing possible would be to buy ourselves some more time before we can figure out what to do about your father."

"That would be ideal," Draco agreed, "but it is also next to impossible. I dont know of any counter-spells, and no one I've contacted..."

Hermione interrupted him by clearing her throat. She blushed as she said, "There's a Muggle way."

Dracos lip curled in a very Snape-esque way. "Muggles," he muttered under his breath. "Well, what is it?"

"I'm sure I know what you're going to say," an aristocratic voice purred from the doorway.

Hermione jumped visibly, her heart leaping into her mouth.

Draco seemed unperturbed. "Mother," he acknowledged.

Narcissa strode into the room, even her stride seeming to emit signals of better-than-you. "And despite that a Muggle remedy for things such as these exists, it won't work in this case."

"Would you care to explain the situation?" Draco drawled.

Narcissa shot her son a look that clearly said she'd thought he'd been rude. He striahgtened his stance and shut his mouth. "Artificial insemination," Naricissa said, wrinkling her nose as if she'd said something filthy.

"Which is...?" Draco prompted.

Naricissa explained the concept to her son, whose face grew more and more horrified the more was explained to him. Hermione was blushing a deep crimson by the end of the explanation.

"Eugh," Draco concluded.

Narcissa smiled sarcastically and turned her wide, pale eyes to Hermione. "I checked with Baxter. It won't work."

Hermione's face darkened at the mention of Carissa Baxter. "That hag," she muttered under her breath.

.

.

Author's Note: Thank you all for being so patient with me lately. I know it's been a month since I last updated, but boy what a month it has been! I was finally able to buy the house of my dreams, and we're in the process of moving, so this chapter literally did take me a month to write! But here it is... I made it a little longer to atone for the wait.

Thanks TONS to MyLookOfDenial., sureynot, InvisibleLilacNights, gitgit, Marmalade Fever, RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder, Hermione0323, Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX, PrettyChelsea, Padfoot7Prongs, ShadX - Dramione Fan, and ebbe04 for the reviews! Your reviews are what make me want to write more!!!

Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX - Yes, there will be a Head Boy and Girl. But I haven't got around to mentioning them yet because I'm not quite sure who to make them yet. I may never get around to it, but they do exist!

Marmalade Fever - Haha, I too love marmalade. I had to mention it last chapter. Quite great stuff, it is.

Padfoot7Prongs - Oops! Sorry for the misspell! I do try to catch as many as possible, but something always evades me. Sheesh. As for the cold Draco to the warm and fuzzy Draco... well, I quite agree. It's unrealistic. I don't see Draco ever becoming warm and fuzzy. At least not in this fic. And if he does, it will end up being a very private thing. Part of why we like Draco is because he's so Byronic and brooding. It'd be a shame to change that....


	41. Letters and Promises

Chapter Forty

"Were just going to have to suck it up and do it," Hermione finally admitted.

"Yeah," Draco agreed as though he'd known it all along. Maybe he had.

"But not now," Hermione added quickly, alarm registering on her face, "because I have Arithmancy in the morning, early."

"Of course."

Hermione surveyed Draco suspiciously; Why was he being so accommodating? But, she noticed, his mind looked as though it were elsewhere, perhaps somewhere quite far from the parlor.

"Are you really comprehending this?" she snapped.

"More than you are," he sneered, though he couldn't help feeling inward amusement at her line of reasoning. She stared at him incredulously, but decided against challenging him – an act he found most surprising.

After bidding good night to Narcissa and agreeing to meet at the Manor the next night, the two Floo'd back to the castle.

.

.

"Well," Hermione said awkwardly as they reached an intersection in the castles shifting hallways, "good night."

"You dont want me to walk you to your dormitory?" The way Draco expressed this betrayed a genuine surprise in his voice; Hermione felt she was obligated to accept.

"Oh, yes. That'd be great, thanks."

After a few moments however, she was wishing she had declined – the pair walked in a complete and awkward silence almost all the way to Gryffindor Tower.

"Christ!" Draco finally said, as they turned toward the staircase going up to the sixth floor, "you have to walk ALL these stairs, EVERY time?"

Hermione bit her lip in an effort to contain her laughter, which did not help. A giggle escaped her lips and she nodded vigorously. "Maybe you should get in better shape," she ventured to tease.

With an air of affrontment, Draco began to deny such an accusation vehemently, until he realized his wife was making fun of him and he quickly ceased. They soon reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, in front of which Hermione came to such a decided halt, he knew where they must be.

Awkwardly, the two stood in front of one another. "Well, I suppose this is good night," Draco finally said.

"Yes. I'll see you soon, Draco."

The way she said his name sent a pang through his chest. It had been awhile since they'd started using one another's first names, but he was still unused to the way she said it – the way her lips hung slightly open on the second syllable of his name, showing how truly big and soft they looked. Her mouth was so inviting her voice felt so good as it washed over his skin...

"Are you alright?"

That same voice snapped him back to the present. She was looking at him, surveying him with a kind of intrigue, or something akin to concern.

"Yes, tolerably," he answered in a typical Draco-like fashion.

"Well, good night."

He nodded and turned quickly on his heel, mind more preoccupied than one roaming about the halls late at night should be. Whether by luck or divine providence, he met with no one on the way to the dungeons - but as he lay his head down on the pillow to prepare for a sleepless night, he found he could not remember anything from the walk down from the seventh floor to his bed at all.

.

.

"I'm sick of this bloody rain," Ron grunted.

The Gryffindor Common Room had mostly emptied for the night, but Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny were still awake, finishing up an essay due for Professor Nguyen the next day.

Hermione placed a bookmark neatly into the book shed been using for her research and stood up, stretching deliberately. Harry looked up at her from his parchment, where at least three pages of his thin, messy writing seemed to litter the page like an accident. "Going somewhere, Hermione?" he inquired, quill still poised where his next word would appear. Ron and Ginny, too looked up.

"For a walk, I guess."

"But you've still got eight inches!" Ron exclaimed, whacking the paper in his hand to show they still had a lot of work to do.

"Oh, I wont be long. I'm going to the owlery." She picked up a blank piece of parchment from her working area, as if she meant it and produced a wan smile. Very decidedly, she exited through the Portrait Hole to the dull roar of thunder and a fork of lightning raking across the castle grounds.

"She didn't take her quill," Ginny observed.

"They've also shut off the owlery because of the rain," Harry added, shaking his head and staring pointlessly at the spot where Hermione had last disappeared.

.

.

Back at her own new home, Hermione collapsed on the sleigh bed and breathed in the familiar smell of fresh linen that permeated the sheets. Face down in the white satin, she felt the soft material against her cheek and punched the pillow once vigorously. She couldn't believe she was here now... and for the reason! Meeting her husband – Draco Malfoy! – to...!

After a few moments, she sat up and surveyed the bedroom carefully. Nothing had changed since she'd last been in the room, three weeks ago.

Three weeks! Surely the lake should have overflowed monstrously by now!

She bounced off the bed and went to the window, only to observe the lake at about its regular level for fall, and covered in the fallen orange and brown leaves of the season.

The sound of the door behind her made her turn to look. Just as she thought, Draco's form materialized in the doorway. He had a serious look on his face and a piece of parchment in his hand. He stopped at the desk in the corner of the room and looked at her; She peered back at him from the window, fiddling the curtains with her fingers.

He held aloft the letter briefly and tossed it lightly on the desk, "You might be interested in reading that."

Draco crossed to the bed and flopped backwards onto it. Curious, Hermione slowly crossed the room and picked up the letter, aware that he was observing her...

.

_Brother,_

_With the limited time I have to write this letter, I am afraid I cannot even offer you any good news. I have researched Grenadian Thestral Hoof Enamel extensively and there has been only one mention of it anywhere, in a book called 'Nettie Nenswick's Noxious Nectars for Nitwits'. By the title of the book, Im sure you can gather that the mention of it was not of any real importance. All Nettie Nenswick says on the subject, is that if a potion uses both newt's eyes and a rat tail of the right proportions, the enamel can be used as a hasty and less messy substitute. However, I can't imagine that it is less expensive_

_I am truly sorry I could not help you more._

_All my fondest,_

_Adrian Gleibter_

.

.

Author's Note: Thank you to ebbe04, gitgit, Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX, dragonsgirl21, PrettyChelsea, Padfoot7Prongs, MyLookOfDenial., SecretShellfish, Marmalade Fever, -Malfoy, Naomiii, sureynot, , FaerieBride, InvisibleLilacNights, horseandbooklover, Pienky, Twilightfanlovr, XXnadiraXX, and Imane Nikko for the reviews!

I really have no legitimate excuse as to why I haven't posted anything in nine or ten months. I'm truly sorry for neglecting this... just been busy! But I will try to have an update soon. I would love to finish this! All my apologies, especially to those of you who have been faithfully reading the whole time.

-Kira


	42. Answers Lead To More Questions

Chapter Forty-One

Hermione carefully folded the letter where there were already creases in the parchment and placed it neatly onto the writing desk. "Interesting," she merely said. Draco stared at her so fixedly, Hermione quickly realized she had missed something important about the letter. She fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Are you comprehending what that means?" Draco prompted, as if he was worried about her competency after all. "It means whatever business my father has got about hoof enamel is unrecorded."

"Or Adrian just didnt look hard enough," Hermione pointed out indelicately.

"He works for the German Wizarding Society Libraries and Records."

"Oh."

Hermione had heard of such a place in History of Magic before. It apparently contained all the known records of the Wizarding world. Centered in Frankfurt, Germany, it was famous not just for the wealth of knowledge it contained (it was rumored if someone lived a hundred years, they could never absorb even half its contents), but also because it had the best security systems in Western Europe, with only two exceptions.

The bookworm in Hermione tinged green with envy. If she had been around Harry, Ginny, or even Ron, she would have immediately expressed a desire to go sometime in the near future – but she felt it was different with Draco.

"What could he be about?" Draco mused aloud.

Watching Draco pace about the room, Hermione steadily grew more and more nervous. It was like watching a pendulum that was counting down the minutes to an execution.

"I think we should go," Draco finally said.

"Go?" Hermione repeated stupidly. Her brain was fuzzy – she wasn't herself.

"To Germany to visit Adrian," Draco clarified slowly.

Hermione's heart leapt into her mouth – she couldnt help but be excited by the prospect of so many books. "To the library?" she asked hopefully.

Draco gave her a withering look, "Not quite. To visit Adrian, not the library."

Hermione blushed, "You dont have to talk to me like I'm a child."

"Well your logic at the moment resembles that of a child."

Hermione blushed a deeper crimson, "We're never going to be able to work together if we only demean one another." Draco ran his fingers down the velvet curtains and said nothing, which Hermione realized was his way of consenting to her words without compromising his pride. "When do we go?"

"Immediately, if you will."

"But... the time!"

"I've already taken care of it."

"Oh, but-"

"Would you like to stay here and commence with our original plan?"

Hermione became immediately crimson, "OH... no, no. Let's go."

Draco hid his relief from her... after all, with so much intensity resting on the two of them having sex, he wasnt even sure he could perform properly.

.

.

Adrian's apartment was a comfortable nook of a place nestled on the second floor of a very old house in Osnabruck.

"Rufus! Bad dog! Down!"

Hermione did not notice the mutt at first, but the words forced her to acknowledge the good-sized dog that seemed to have attached itself to Draco, paws on his chest, big tongue slobbering. It was odd however, that the dog made no sound at all.

Adrian came into view around the corner with a dog bone, which he tossed toward an old couch. Rufus's mouth made a motion like he'd barked, but no sound came out.

"Sorry about that oaf," Adrian apologized. Hermione watched with interest how the brothers reacted to one another: Draco stuck out his hand to shake Adrian's, which Adrian ignored and swiftly pulled his brother into a hug. "Good to see you! Good to see you! Hello, Hermione."

Unconsciously, Hermione also stuck out her hand to shake his, which Adrian noticed and also ignored, pulling his sister-in-law into a hug as well. Hermione wondered if hugging Adrian was what hugging Draco would be like, until it struck her as odd that she'd never hugged her own husband before. It didnt occur to her until a few moments even after that, that she had idly thought about hugging Draco Malfoy.

"Come on, have a seat. You've got some Floo powder on your shirt or, actually, I think that's ash. I havent had a chance to clean out the fireplace in awhile. Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it," Draco lazily protested, taking a seat next to Rufus, who took up most of the couch and was busily chewing on the bone Adrian had tossed.

Hermione took in her surroundings: So this was where Adrian stayed when he wasn't traveling. She wondered how he'd gotten involved with Patrick and the travelers in the first place, but now didn't seem like the right time to ask.

Rain pattered on the windows while an empty umbrella stand seemed to glare accusingly at the weather. A pile of blank canvasses were stacked in one corner, collecting dust, while next to it a stack of canvasses already completely had already acquired a thick film and probably permanent damage. The closet door was open, revealing a sadly shabby collection of cloaks and jackets. There were books, but no bookshelf, stacked in the same manner as the canvasses. The tower of hardcovers seemed solid, but the leafed-through paperbacks seemed more and more precarious as they climbed to the top of the stack. The only lamp, a sickeningly pink thing Hermione would have bet ten galleons Adrian had not chosen himself, stood just in the right dimension that the one many-paned window looked lonely and sad as the rain beat down relentlessly. The faint smell of some seafood-based soup seemed to emanate from the kitchen.

Hermione assessed the couch and discovered that there wasn't quite enough room for her to sit on it, since Rufus took up so much of it. Instead, she sat down on a mismatched chair that looked like the only survivor of a dining room set, which Rufus had kindly destroyed with bite marks.

The room was such a shabby place, it reminded Hermione more of The Burrow than Malfoy Manor. It was hard to think the Malfoys had so much wealth when Draco's own half-brother lived in such shabbiness. Adrian seemed to follow her wandering eyes. "Its not much," he admitted, "but this is my humble bachelor pad. I'm only here a part of the year, anyway. I'm afraid its a little less fine than what you're accustomed to."

Hermione reddened, "Oh! Certainly not. I just had no idea you painted." It was a white lie, but it made her feel a little better.

"I don't, anymore," Adrian answered, "tea?"

Hermione accepted the steaming cup that was offered to her, fidgeting in an effort to be comfortable. The rickety chair seemed to creak whether she was still or not.

"Down to business," said Draco, declining some tea. "My father claims he has a spell of some sort that will bring back the Dark Lord. This is based on his knowledge of some prophecy he'd heard somewhere about me and Hermione..."

"It doesn't exist," Adrian interrupted calmly, dumping four cubes of sugar into his tea.

Draco stared.

"It has to exist," Hermione countered.

"It doesn't," said Adrian.

"But it has to. Carissa Baxter, the rain – we're... we're married!" Hermione sputtered.

"There's no prophecy," Adrian explained, "at least not one that was recorded, and one of that magnitude tends to be recorded in some way or another."

"Baxter made that prophecy, herself," Draco iterated.

Adrian rolled his eyes, "Carissa Baxter has a reputation in many parts of the world at this point... she MAKES all her own prophecies. As in, she can convince herself that something will happen and her mind creates a trance-like state, which will overtake her until someone happens to hear something they like. She also takes requests."

"So... she's not actually psychic," Draco stated, falling back into the couch.

"Oh, she's psychic alright. But she hasnt made a legitimate prophecy in about 350 years. She's the last holder of the Elixir of Life now that Nicholas Flamel has passed on, may he rest in peace. Why do you think Baxter has so many different names? She's not taken seriously otherwise."

The weight of this statement hit Hermione like a load of bricks. "But," she struggled to find something, "what about all the rain?"

Adrian smiled a little, blew on his tea, took a sip and said, "I did some research to see what that was all about, actually. As it turns out, there was a prophecy made in 1818 by Jemima Hindswaggle that foretold a great rain that would cover the entire world for exactly a month. She also predicted that no parts of the world would be lost to flood because by then a magical force field would surround the world, once the entire Wizarding World was connected as it is today."

Dumbstruck, both Hermione and Draco wore identical stunned faces for several moments while their brains caught up to this information. Adrian took the silent moment to rigorously scratch Rufus's belly.

"When did you discover this new prophecy?" Hermione queried, finding her voice before Draco did.

"This morning. I've had my assistant doing research with me to cover more areas of the library. He was actually the one who found it."

"Are you sure it's legitimate?" Hermione further questioned.

"Absolutely sure. I made sure there were two other documented sources." Another silence paused them until Adrian added, "The rain should stop in exactly 3 days."

"Another three days is worth waiting to see if it holds true," Draco mused aloud.

"I should say!" Hermione agreed and another thought occurred to her, "...the world HASN'T flooded! I remember when I went back to the manor, I had expected the lake to be flooded over, but it wasn't. It was just as it always was!"

Draco surveyed her, almost as if trying to detect if she was lying, until Adrian supplied, "Rightly, if flooding were to occur, we'd have lost a fair portion of the world already."

"I'd been told it had been lost already," Draco interjected.

"But, Draco, it makes sense!" Hermione cried, "we heard that information from your father and OF COURSE he would lie if he wanted us to believe him!"

"I just can't understand why he would want us to believe such a thing if it weren't true, though. What could be the gain for it?"

"Maybe he's bonkers," Adrian idly suggested, turning back to his tea, which had so much sugar in it, the white-stained-brown grains were visible.

"There has to have been SOME motivation, though," Draco muttered more to himself than to his companions, "it just doesnt make any sense this way..."

"I feel like such a weight has been lifted off my chest!" Hermione burst out happily. Truly, she was smiling in such a way as she had never smiled for months. Rufus made another motion as if he was barking and ambled over to slobber on Hermione and have his ears scratched.

"He's mute," Adrian explained, looking adoringly at Rufus. "Only case I've ever seen of it."

Draco sat in perfect silence, the wheels of his mind spinning rapidly. The rain could be explained away... Carissa Baxter could be explained away... but his father's determination to fulfill a prophecy that supposedly never existed... could not. Draco had grown up with that man, known him for eighteen years and NEVER had Lucius chased a wild dream or sought to achieve anything that would put himself on the line. The most reckless thing he'd ever done was to put the Dark Lord's schoolbook diary into Ginny Weasley's hands. Draco still wasn't sure how his father had done it, and certainly he hadn't even learned the truth until years after it had happened, but that had been the extent of Lucius's following a mere whim of his.

No, there was a bigger picture to this puzzle. Hermione and Adrian might be pacified, but there was a beast inside Draco's soul that was pacing back and forth, contemplating and restless...

.

.

Author's Note: If anyone has never seen Moulin Rouge, I would now suggest making it one of your priorities. And then you can get the soundtrack and listen to it a million times. It's worth it.

Thanks to Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX, Megara Spoiler, sureynot, dg17, InvisibleLilacNights, CountingSheep123, gitgit, ebbe04, and LyLyLo for the reviews!

Xx. Shaiya Star-Gazer .xX - I deleted the old copy of the story because the more I read it, the more embarrassed I was about my writing. Fear not though, I went through it and took out the good parts, which I am trying to fit into this version of the story.


	43. After All This Time

Chapter Forty-Two

Callidora Black was having some serious problems that week. The Head of the Department of Magical Defense for France was sending her angry owls demanding recompensation for some damage one of her newly-deceased relatives had caused to something-or-other of importance – at least, that's what Dora THOUGHT it was, because the man barely wrote any English at all. She'd received three letters of plea from relatives now locked up in Azkaban because of all that dreadful running-around as Death Eaters… they wanted her help in presenting their case to the Wizengamot. As if she believed they didn't deserve their fate.

Also among her concerns were things of varying degrees of urgency: an upcoming dinner party with the Prime Minister of Wizarding Armenia, her financial advisor's concerns regarding her fortune, a few things in her home needing appraisal to be sure they were proper wedding gifts for some upcoming family nuptuals… the wedding itself… and all the while, the stress of her estranged grand-daughter weighing on her proud shoulders.

It was a lot for those poor, old shoulders to handle, all that resting on them. And Dora was by no means a young woman anymore – but if there was one thing a true Black never did, was slouch in one's chair. Dora would remain proud-shouldered until she was put into her grave, as she'd been trained to do since early childhood… no matter what she was feeling on the inside.

Hermione constantly weighed heavily on her mind, no matter how busy she could make herself. Instead of trying to bury it, Dora welcomed it into the forefront of her mind, as if placing it there would vie everything else and conjure a solution.

In the short time Hermione had lived with her grandmother, there had been only time enough to have a single portrait painted. Dora had requested it be removed from the lower parlour and put into her study, where she spent much of her time.

Dora was still not sure if the move had been a good idea or not – now that she spent so much time with the painting, she began to feel worse and worse about herself. So bad, in fact, that George had selected a tonic for her to take in order to help perk her back up.

It wasn't that it was a bad painting – quite the contrary, it was a very good likeness. Too good. The sadness that seemed to emanate from the brown orbs that were Hermione's eyes made Dora's skin crawl. It was unnatural for such a young person to known that depth of sadness. Unnatural and wrong.

Not only that, but occasionally the moving portrait cast a doleful gaze in Dora's general direction, the eyes momentarily becoming accusing and betrayed. But mostly the eyes just averted their gaze. Whenever Dora came to close, the paint-Hermione would usually rise and exit the frame altogether.

Yes, Callidora Black was feeling like quite the monster.

"Madam?" George the Butler prompted. Dora had fallen into another of her glaze-over trances. "The tonic?"

Dora smiled despite herself, "Am I really that bad, George?"

"I'm afraid you're looking a bit raincloud-y today, madam, if I may be so forward."

"And we certainly don't need any more of this rain, do we, George?" Dora laughed. "My, it's getting to the point of ridiculousness! Still no flooding in the stable area?"

"None, madam."

"Wonderful… no, I don't think I'll be needing the tonic, George. Just my thoughts and I having a struggle."

Dora saw George's eyes flicker to the portrait of Hermione, which was plaintively gazing at the corner of the room, as if it was the cause of all her despair. "Should I remove the painting, madam?"

Callidora started at this suggestion, "Of my dearest granddaughter? Oh, certainly not, George! It is a reminder to this old lady how much damage she is still capable of!"

"Madam Black was only acting upon what she thought was best," George said sagely, re-corking the tonic he'd brought along and making it disappear with his wand, "as she has always done."

"You're too kind, George, as always."

George knew when he was being dismissed. He bowed and disapparated with a quiet popping sound.

After a long silence, Dora rose from her desk and approached the portrait of Hermione, "What I thought was best, yes." The portrait-Hermione rose from her seat and disappeared though the side of the frame, head down to avoid eye contact. "But best for who? Not for her. She was broken when I got her and I managed to destroy many of the pieces still in-tact."

Callidora Black did not cry – she hadn't for decades.

"You're a silly, old woman, Callidora Black," she told herself, shaking her head, "silly and cracked. You killed your own granddaughter."

.

.

Their visit to Adrian at a close, Hermione and Draco Floo'd back to the Manor, then back to Hogwarts, appearing in an empty classroom. To the surprise of both, they were met by a very stern Headmistress McGonagoll.

"Ah, there you both are," she began, looking very harried by their disappearance. "I've been waiting nearly an hour."

Hermione shot a glance at Draco to discern that he too, had no idea someone had been waiting for them, then shot her eyes to her feet. "I'm sorry we were out of bed, professor. It won't happen again."

McGonagoll's expression softened as she gazed at one of her favorite students. "Miss Gr- Mrs. Malfoy, I assure you I am not here to punish you." (Hermione's and Draco's faces both reddened at the use of Hermione's married name). "But I also can't have you Floo'ing off whenever you like. There are barriers around the school to alert me when such things occur, and which sets up defenses that make it difficult to get much done."

"But there's nothing in _Hogwarts, A History_ of…" Hermione began.

"An outdated source, to be sure, and something that should be remedied," McGonagoll observed. Hermione closed her mouth. "However, in light of the circumstances, I have done some looking into what Hogwarts has traditionally done for students who have been married before they left school. It has not happened recently, but in the past, Hogwarts has given married couples their own living quarters in order to ensure them some privacy…"

"Professor, we don't need…!"

"Please don't interrupt me, Mr. Malfoy, kindly. Whether you use them or not, there is a private area I will now introduce you to, while you are within the castle walls. Please follow me."

Hermione was the darkest shade of crimson she could imagine ever being before simply dropping to the ground in a dead faint from heat exhaustion. It was bad enough living at Draco's new Manor with him, but within Hogwarts itself! It was with extreme embarrassment that the small procession continued.

Finally, McGonagoll stopped in front of a supremely unremarkable wooden door Hermione had never noticed before. It was along the same third-floor corridor in which the room containing Fluffy the Three-Headed Dog was in their first year.

"Here we are," the Headmistress said, gesturing to the door. "It has a password – 'perfero' – which either of you may change at any time, simply by speaking the new password and your intentions to change it, at the door."

Upon McGonagoll's utterance of the word, the door made a noise as if it'd unlocked and swung open noiselessly. Hermione peered in; Draco feigned disinterest – the whole thing was really more embarrassing than it was worth.

"I shall leave you to explore. Your things and personal possessions have been moved here."

"But, professor…!"

"I can't have the both of you leaving the castle whenever you chose through any fireplace, to be together," McGonagoll reminded them. "This room was built in the 1600s for students in your situation, and I believe it will do the both of you some good to act the part of the married couple." Draco opened his mouth to say something, "Although, per your request, I will continue to say nothing." Draco closed his mouth. "I must now bid you good evening, Malfoys."

Even after McGonagoll had departed, Draco and Hermione merely stood in front of the open door silently. Finally, Draco broke the silence, "Bonkers, this. As if this is what either of us wanted!"

"Well," Hermione ventured, "I suppose McGonagoll must think we leave the castle to… well, you know…" Had it been possible, Hermione would have grown redder.

"I suppose you're right," Draco answered quickly, his pale face pink in the cheeks. "Care to go inside?"

The two stepped into the room cautiously, taking in their knew home within the castle.

.

.

Author's Note: First of all, I must apologize for taking about a year, give or take, to update this. That is a LONG time to wait for an update. My reasoning - and yes, I have one - was that I'd written myself into a hole I could never get out of with this. I was concerned I was following Hermione and Draco's characters TOO closely and that no romance could ever possibly come of this. I was convinced of this for about a year, until just yesterday I thought back on it all, and had an epiphany. A little late, perhaps, but nonetheless... the story can and will go on!

Anyway, to business.

Thank you to gitgit, dg17, InvisibleLilacNights, xshaiyaxstar, CountingSheep123, Professor Rose, ebbe04, martshi3, sw5678, '2J0annA2', sandrawoepie and luvlybubbles for the reviews. I still love reviews!

I also feel especially rotten, since many of you included in your reviews how excited you were for an update. I will now go pen (er, type...) the next part of a chapter so I can update quickly.

P.S. I know the room bit is a bit cliche'... but you will see why it is necessary!


	44. The Chapter In Which A Kiss Occurs

Chapter Forty-Three

The room inside was wide and circular, made of stone and nearly unremarkable. There were neutral paintings hung on the walls – one of the Hogwarts crest, another of several horses grazing in a meadow. Autumn leaves were falling on a snoozing bard in another.

A large woven rug of orange, red and black took up the majority of the stone floor and a fire was roaring in the grate of an enormous fireplace. On top the mantle were several framed pictures, all moving. Two shelves stood on either end of the fireplace, the first containing a number of Hermione's favorite books from home, and many that she wished to read – including, she noted with humor, _A Revised History of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_, dated only a month prior. The other bookshelf contained mostly books she'd never read before.

A small wooden table stood by a double window, on it stood a vase containing fresh sprigs of lavender. Some practical-looking chairs sat around the table. A mix of both comfortable and uncomfortable-looking armchairs were scattered around the room.

Hermione glanced at Draco, who was taking in the room as if personally appraising anything. She was pleased to see that he hadn't yet seen anything he didn't like.

On the opposite side of the window was a short passage, which split off into two directions, each containing a bedroom: one, Hermione was relieved to see, for each of them.

"This isn't so bad," she admitted aloud.

"No, it isn't. Circumstances what they are, this is nice," Draco agreed.

Had either been paying attention, they would have noticed this was the first time they'd ever fully agreed on anything without contempt.

The two of them stood awkwardly at the fork in the passage – Draco's room decorated mostly in green-and-silver, Hermione's in red-and-gold.

"Well, good night, I suppose," Hermione said quietly.

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Draco, Malfoy-like. Then, less slimily, "Good night."

"Good night, Draco," she murmured, reaching quickly for the handle of her door, shaped like a leaping Gryffindor lion. It reminded Hermione of her grandmother – the front doors of Callidora's mansion were shaped like enormous leaping zebras.

Forgetting herself a moment, Hermione turned back to Draco to point this likeness out, but found him still standing there looking at her with such an odd expression on his face, she was stopped before she'd even begun.

Draco's eyes were rooted to her face with an intensity that frankly frightened her. There was no other word for it: he looked positively PISSED. Seeing the look in his eyes, the angry glint of fire bursting to life was frightening on the pale, pointed face with his usually steely grey eyes.

Hermione, at first, thought to run into her room and lock the door. But that is not what Gryffindors did, and Hermione had been placed in that House for a reason.

Her second instinct was to brace herself for some sort of angry vent from him for reasons she couldn't understand. This, she expected – based on his strange and terrifying expression.

What she was NOT expecting was for him to kiss her. Which is what he did.

With a purpose, he closed the three-step distance between them and took both her hands into his, pulling her into his chest. Though there was no way she could have expected any of this, she did note with some surprise the gentleness of his hands on hers, given the hardness and anger in his expression.

Anger still boiling in his eyes, he leaned in toward her, lips a little strong at first, but then more gently… his lips were soft, if a little thin. Hermione shuddered. A stray strand of platinum hair fell out of place and gently brushed against her cheek, tickling the sensitive skin there.

For a moment, time and space did not exist; for a moment, he was not Draco Malfoy and she was not Hermione Granger – they were two nonentities, melting into the other. Their hands brushed, shoulders touched – they were nearly the same height, he not more than a handful of inches taller than her.

When it ended, Hermione was assailed by an emotional shit storm. Draco saw it all pass through her eyes – enjoyment, confusion, anger, more confusion, hurt… lots of hurt, even hints of despair. Tears threatened, but she refused them control, at least for that moment.

With a look he didn't understand, Draco watched the waves of chestnut hair that made up the back of Hermione's head retreat into her bedroom and disappear behind her closed door with what seemed to be a pungent resentment that meant, to him, a finality of some sort.

"You always have to push it," Draco muttered angrily to himself under his breath.

He stood there a moment longer before turning on his heel and hiding himself and his emotions in his own bedroom.

"Why did you do it?" He had no answer for himself, so instead he punched the pillow on his bed.

All his things had been moved into the room, but that did not impress him. He peered into the mirror hanging on the far end of his wall – the young man that stared back at him did not impress him either.

"Always have to ruin things, don't you?" he demanded of his reflection. "You're given a choice to join with the Dark Lord and you screw it up by picking the wrong thing. You're given a job, and you screw that up too. You're given an opportunity to start over and you just can't get over yourself."

He was building himself up into a frenzy. Next door he could hear Hermione's muffled sobbing.

"And now," he whispered to his reflection, anger glinting dangerously in his eyes, "you're married. Married to a girl you couldn't even STAND until a few months ago – and she's damaged. But no matter, Draco – damaged doesn't last forever, unless YOU stick your face in it. YOU had to go and muddy it all up, didn't you? It wasn't even that awkward anymore until you had to KISS the bloody girl. Why did you do it?"

He punched his pillow again and flopped face-down onto his bed.

"I hate you!" he finally screamed into his pillow – but whether he was screaming it at Hermione or at himself, even he wasn't sure.

Before he knew it, tears were streaming down his cheeks, moistening his pillow. In this manner, he fell asleep – fully clothed and completely miserable.

.

.

Author's Note: That's right! The chapter you've all been waiting for! Snuck up on you, didn't it? :-D But yeah, I decided to make up my long absence from this fic to you by giving you a semi-steamy chappie (although short) and by updating quickly. Forgive me?

Anyway, thanks to xshaiyaxstar, ebbe04, CountingSheep123, Edana Alary, dg17, Professor Rose and InvisibleLilacNights for the reviews. (Especially so quickly after not updating in... ever).

xshaiyaxstar - I like your new screen name. FanFiction doesn't make me split it into sections when typing it. :-) Loved the review, because I seem to recall you leaving a similar one over a year ago about exclaiming in the middle of class. Your classmates must think you're quite the character!

ebbe04 - I agree with you about thanking people for reviews. If someone has taken time out of their day to read something I wrote and also felt compelled to comment on it to let me know they enjoyed what I've written... well, that's really neat! And I also really appreciate it.


	45. Friendship Ties

Chapter Forty-Four

Hermione awoke the next morning feeling as though she'd been hit by the Hogwarts Express. For a moment, she couldn't remember why.

Sitting up in bed, she was bathed in a sort of watery sunlight, despite the rain, from the window by her bed. The crimson silk curtains had been drawn open, or else never closed. A pleasant view of Hagrid's hut alongside the Forbidden Forest met her eyes.

It was as if the train had come back around and hit her again. Events from the previous night flooded into memory and she fought the tears for a few moments before they won.

Once she'd had her cry, she got out of bed slowly, like an old woman who has seen far more than her share of the world. One glance at her reflection sent her into another wave of despair – there would be no fixing the mess that met her eyes… but she would have to do her best.

She glanced at the clock on the wall: there was still two hours before Arithmancy, then Potions that evening. She gathered all her necessary school things before setting to work on herself.

In her mind, she came up with a dozen things she would say to Draco when she saw him once that door was opened. Half an hour later, she was still not sure which one she would use… but there could be no more waiting. Harry, Ron and Ginny would worry if she didn't show up to breakfast.

Tentatively, she turned the handle… and with a great rush of courage, flung the door outward. An empty room met her eyes, though it showed signs of habitation. A Slytherin tie was folded neatly on the circular table by the window and a book lay upturned on the couch titled _Wuthering Heights_.

Hermione's brow furrowed. She had not left the book there – she hated that book – and she couldn't picture Draco enjoying Muggle literature.

Picking it up, she read the page that lay open:

"You said I killed you – haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!"

She quickly shut the book, reminded of why she'd detested it. Though it was warm through the rain, she shivered. Glancing around her and confirming the emptiness of the entire suite, she hitched her schoolbag higher on her shoulder and fairly flew out the door toward the Dining Hall.

.

.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed as Hermione slid into the seat beside her, "where have you been?"

"You had us all worried sick, you did!" Ron added in an unintentionally apt impression of his own mother.

Very quickly and under her breath, Hermione explained everything that'd happened in regard to the room and McGonagoll. At some point during the whispered exchange, Harry, Ron and Ginny each glanced at the teacher's table to peer at McGonagoll and then at the Slytherin table to see if Draco was there. McGonagoll was engaged in conversation with Professor Nguyen, the Transfiguration professor; Draco was conspicuously absent.

Hermione left out the part where Draco had kissed her: Ron was already steaming out his ears.

Once finished with her story, she leaned back and let the other three survey her.

"So is it true?" Ginny queried, "does the school really give…" she glanced around to make sure no one was listening, "…married couples their own suite? Historically, I mean?"

"It does say so in _Hogwarts, A History_," Hermione admitted, "only I'd forgotten about it until Professor McGonagoll said it."

"Are you still allowed in our Common Room?" Harry asked seriously.

"Well, she said I was welcome to continue on in Gryffindor Tower…" Hermione trailed off.

"Excellent," Ron said as if in conclusion, "so you don't have to stay with the git at all!"

"Ron, hush," Ginny warned, because Parvati Patil had looked over curiously at his outburst.

On their way to Arithmancy from breakfast, Hermione and Ginny walked almost in silence to the classroom, until Ginny said, "You're very brave, you know. What you've been through, I mean. You can still keep your head up. Most people couldn't."

"Thank you," was all Hermione could reply.

Ginny took her friend's hand and gave her an encouraging smile, "I will always be a friend. I will always be there for you to turn to. Just so you remember."

"I know, Ginny. Thank you. You and Harry, and…. Ron," Hermione listed uncertainly, "are such wonderful friends to me. I hardly think I deserve you."

It took a lot of effort, but Hermione managed a wan smile to mirror Ginny's. But there was something in Hermione's smile that unnerved Ginny. It had never been in Hermione's smile before… but it would be in every single one thereafter. It was the smile of a young woman who had been trodden on one too many times.

.

.

In the break following Arthimancy and before Potions, Hermione joined Ginny, Ron and Harry in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ginny and Harry had both finished Charms essays, but Ron was still struggling through another six inches. Ginny was schooling Harry at Wizarding Chess. Ron had ink on the end of his long nose. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were gossiping with another Gryffindor girl Hermione didn't know, while someone was teaching Dennis Creevy how to play Gobstones. It was almost like old times for Hermione, which made it all the more bittersweet.

Having finished her own Charms essay a few days ago, Hermione was alternately watching Ginny and Harry's game of chess and helping Ron "find the words" for his essay.

"You're a lifesaver, Hermione!" Ron breathed, as he completed another two inches with her help.

"Check," said Ginny, moving her rook across from Harry's king.

"Honestly, I dunno what I would ever do without you!" Ron exclaimed, suddenly making the entirely situation extremely awkward for all four of them. Ron's face colored the same as his hair.

"Checkmate," Ginny crowed.

"Rotten, I am," Harry admitted. "Care to head off to Potions, Hermione? Bit early, but we can take the long way around the Quidditch Pitch and I can show you my new broom…"

Everyone was glad of this, because it meant an end to the awkwardness created by Ron's statement. Hermione gathered her things and followed Harry out the Portrait Hole. Before they exited, Hermione heard Ginny exclaim, "Nice going, Ron! You have to watch what you say."

Harry and Hermione walked a bit of a distance, taking the long way around the Quidditch pitch, like Harry had suggested – although Hermione knew Harry knew her well enough that most broomsticks looked the same to her.

"Hermione," Harry began surely enough, "I'm worried about you. You barely eat – you're thinner than I was after spending a summer at the Dursley's. You barely speak. You aren't taking care of yourself."

"I…"

"Hear me out. You stuck with me during the worst of it, Hermione. It was you who solved the riddle to get to the Sorcerer's Stone. It was you who helped me save Sirius and Buckbeak when we used the Time Turner. You got me through the Triwizard Tournament. You stuck by me in the Department of Mysteries. When we were looking for all those horcruxes last year, you stuck by me _the entire way_. You've always given our friendship everything you had, Hermione – don't think I haven't noticed.

"You have been a friend like no one could ask for. Let me help you. I want to help you."

Hermione sank onto one of the stone outcroppings of the courtyard they were walking by. Harry sat next to her and took one of her hands. Two passing Hufflepuffs who saw, immediately began to gossip. Hermione didn't care.

Choosing her words carefully, Hermione began, "Harry, last year when Ron and I went down into the Chamber of Secrets to get that basilisk fang... and I, I, I saw the, the body of that… thing," Hermione stuttered, tears now beginning to stream down her face. She gasped, "Harry you were so brave and you were only twelve when you killed it! And, and last year… with V-Voldemort, I…! I wish I were as brave as you!"

Throwing herself into his chest, she cried her heart out.

.

.

Author's Note: Thanks a bunch to InvisibleLilacNights, IGOTEAMEDWARD, Novindalf, 123Aqua123, aridnie, xshaiyaxstar and ebbe04 for reviewing!

Not much action in this chapter, but filler stuff that needs to happen.


	46. No More Rain

Chapter Forty-Five

It took Harry a moment to recover Hermione's sudden burst of tears. Awkwardly at first, he put his arms around her as if unsure if that was okay when he was dating someone else. Perhaps it was the intensity with which she clung to him, or perhaps it was the sheer fact that Harry had never seen Hermione break down this way that helped him move past his disorientation.

It took a few minutes for her to stop crying. Very few people passed them, most of them politely ignoring the black-haired, bespeckled boy cradling the too-thin, sobbing girl with the masses of wavy brown hair. A few craned their necks shamelessly to get a better look and they were roundly ignored.

Once she was finished sobbing, Hermione told Harry everything. The rape, the loss of her parents, the discovery of her lineage, her grandmother, the engagement, being on-the-run, Draco's brother, the marriage, the revelation of the prophecy, everything Lucius threatened, everything they'd discovered… up until last night when McGonagoll had showed her and Draco the room.

She told him everything she had felt during those moments, even her least proud ones. She told him how she had begun to be okay with Draco after a time, but how much he confused her as well.

Once she was done explaining, Harry sat there in silence for a long while, stroking her hair, which was something he only did to Ginny – Hermione was sure he didn't notice he was doing it.

"Hermione," he finally said, "I think you've underestimated yourself. You are far braver than me. I could never handle all that."

Hermione bit her lip and sat up to face her friend, wiping the tears from her face, "There's something else…"

"I don't know how you could possibly have anything more," Harry answered incredulously.

"Last night… oh, Harry! It was the strangest thing! I was saying good-night to Draco – we have separate rooms in there, you know – and he suddenly looked so angry, like he could kill! And then he… then he…" she trailed off, hiccupping.

"What did he do, Hermione?" Harry's fist was clenched, knuckles white, on his knee. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, no, no," she corrected, wiping a few last tears from her face, "Harry, he… kissed me."

The statement hung, as if suspended in midair, between them.

"He… kissed you?" The fist unclenched. Harry blinked. "On purpose?"

Under any other circumstances, Hermione would had giggled – who kissed by accident? In this instance however, Hermione only nodded.

Harry's expression became thoughtful and he said nothing for quite some time. Hermione fiddled with her book-bag straps.

"Harry? We're going to be late for Potions," she finally interrupted his thoughts.

"Right," Harry said, snapping back into reality and gathering his things. "Er, you're sure you're okay to go to class?"

"I am. Oh, Harry, I feel so much better after having talked to you!"

"I'm glad you've told me, Hermione… we've all been so worried about you. And now we can help you search for the answer to what Lucius Malfoy is after!"

At this, Hermione's eyes widened, "Oh, please, please don't tell Ron! He'll never understand!"

Harry's brow furrowed, but he knew she was right. "Ginny?" he queried.

Hermione thought for a moment, "Yes, Ginny. But no one else… please?"

"Of course," Harry acquiesced. "You're right about Ron. He's, ah…"

"He's Ron," Hermione finished simply.

"Right."

.

.

True to his word, Harry told Ginny everything Hermione had told him and the three of them spent much of the next few days in the library, doing their best.

Hermione's heart soared. Even Ron was helping, although he'd been told they were looking up 'Grenadian Thestral Hoof Enamel' for a particularly nasty Potions essay Slughorn had assigned. No one really expected him to find much, being Ron, but it would have been suspicious if they hadn't at least given an excuse for the amount of time they were now spending in the library, poring over old tomes.

Hermione did not see Draco for days.

She still slept in their suite – all her things had been moved there, after all – and it was much more private than Gryffindor Tower.

There were signs that Draco still slept there, as well: his sheets were always messy every morning, and properly made every night. _Wuthering Heights_ kept moving around the room, sometimes on the bookshelf, a chair, the table… even on the mantelpiece. Occasionally, a man's cloak would be slung over a chair, or a Slytherin scarf would appear. A pair of men's black dress shoes (Draco wore no other type) might be underneath the table… but Hermione never saw him.

She supposed he woke up earlier than her and returned after she'd fallen asleep. This was confirmed one night when she woke up around 3 o'clock in the morning to use the loo and found his bedroom door closed.

He was avoiding her on purpose, she knew. Though WHY, bothered her quite a bit: was he ashamed he'd kissed her? Remorseful? Embarrassed? And why, why, why had he looked so angry before he'd done it?

Hermione tried not to think about it, but it was difficult not to. It had been a truly spectacular kiss, after all. The softness of his lips lingering on hers… she kept being surprised by the chastity of it, as well. Not once had he attempted anything more than the touching of their lips – neither mouth had opened.

And then… he smelled so good. It wasn't a particular smell – it was a clean boy smell. Like soap and freshly cut grass, but not quite either of these things, at the same time.

At first, when Hermione reflected on these things, she immediately buried them, as she would have before she'd told Harry everything…

…But the more the thought surfaced in her mind, the more she indulged it. She had learned recently that feelings like these were like firecrackers in your hand: you could close your hand around it and have your fingers blown off… or you could open your hand and only get burnt a little.

"Something on your mind, Hermione?" Ginny inquired.

Hermione came back to reality and stared into the pair of brown eyes peering at her from over an enormous old book. She shook her head, "I'm sorry, I'm just distracted from this."

Though Hermione turned back to her own book, she could feel Ginny's eyes on her for a few moments longer.

Harry tumbled into the seat next to Ginny and addressed Hermione, "Hermione, I'm really not sure there's anything in here about it at all."

She sighed. "I can't say I'm surprised. If Adrian couldn't find anything in the library at Frankfurt…"

"It's stopped!" cried a voice from the other side of the library. "It's stopped! The rain has stopped!"

A second-year boy tore through the library crying the news. Students plowed across the library toward the windows to see for themselves, meanwhile shouts of excitement confirmed the news.

Hermione, Harry and Ginny quickly gathered their things and ran into the hallway, where students lined against the windows, cheering. Outside, boys and girls dressed in the Hogwarts black robes streamed onto the front lawn, their trainers sinking into the muddy earth with each step, and not caring a whit.

"It's true," Ginny confirmed, her smile spread wide.

Harry pecked her on the cheek in happiness. "Let's go rescue Ron from his Transfiguration essay and go outside," he suggested.

Hermione was about to agree enthusiastically, when a pale-faced, black-robed figure caught her eye. Turning, her eyes drank in the sight of Draco leaning against a pillar with Blaise Zabini.

As if he knew she was looking at him, he raised his eyes to meet hers. Whatever he saw in her expression, it did not discourage him – he somehow or other dismissed Zabini and deliberately began to walk over.

The first thing Hermione noticed were the dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes: he had not been sleeping well, it seemed. She knew, because she had the same circles on her face.

Ginny turned to say something to Hermione, possibly a suggestion to have lunch outside, when she spotted Draco walking toward her friend. She gave Harry a hard nudge in the ribs – it only took him a second to realize why.

Draco stopped in front of Hermione, about two steps away. He hadn't even registered Ginny or Harry standing there. Hermione's face was staring slightly up at him in his favorite way… he'd done a lot of thinking over the past week.

At first he regretted kissing her. Then he felt remorse for putting her through the confusion of it after everything else she'd been through. Then, for a whole day, he hated her, deeply and passionately. Then he didn't care. After he'd stopped caring, he regretted her again.

Once he'd been through all those emotions, he was finally able to assess her properly. What he discovered astounded him to no small degree – he liked the way her hair curled underneath her ears and the way she looked at him, almost never directly in the eyes: shy and reserved. The way her lips parted a little when deep in concentration… how she chewed on the nail on her thumb when deep in thought.

And when she DID look into his eyes, after he'd dug through the layer of hurt, he saw a deep river of molten courage that seemed to flow directly from her soul.

But he could not say all this to her.

Instead he said, "Hi."

She blinked. He loved her thick, dark eyelashes. "Hi," she responded.

He shifted his weight. "Would you, ah… care for a walk?"

She blinked again. "With you?"

He nodded only once. "With me," he confirmed.

Hermione threw a glance to Harry and Ginny, both of whom were wearing completely unreadable expressions. Draco noticed them for the first time.

"Of course, if I'm interrupting something…" he murmured, unable to rid himself of a sneer detectable in his voice when Harry was around.

They were beginning to attract third-party stares at this point. Some of the older students were even anticipating a fight. A Potter-Malfoy duel in the hallways was old hat to some of them.

"Would you mind?" Hermione asked her two friends.

Ginny looked at her friend as if she had three heads. Harry nodded and gave her an encouraging smile. "We were going to collect Ron and take a walk, as well. Maybe we'll bump into you. Come on, Ginny…" and taking Ginny by the arm, he led her, somewhat reluctantly, off toward Gryffindor Tower. One or two of the onlookers expecting a fight looked disappointed.

Draco cleared his throat and with a pointed look at Hermione said, "Shall we?"

.

.

Author's Note: Thanks loads and loads and loads and loads (more loads than all the laundry in my household, and that's saying something!) to my reviewers: xshaiyaxstar, hotttopicgirl, Novindalf, InvisibleLilacNights, sureynot, dg17, ImYourF-A-N, and aridnie! I love reviews and people who review are awesome! :-)


End file.
